A Home Far Away
by MadderJacker
Summary: Granted a second chance, Riley finds himself thrown into a world of Pokemon with a new body. With the Guild as his new family, he works as an Explorer with his friends at his side and wonders ahead. He loves this world, yet this world doesn't love him back. Riley is not supposed to be here. If anyone finds out, he won't be any longer. His new life can be torn away at any moment.
1. Chapter 1: Hello, World

The winds whispered gently as they rustled through the field of amber grass that morning, the sky lit up into a vibrant pink color as the sun poked its head just out from the horizon. It cast its light upon the endless sea of grass, stretching out in all directions until suddenly, it hit a long chain of mountains, straight and jagged chain of hulking rock like teeth of a worn saw.

It was near the base of one of the mountains, ground sloping slightly uphill, that there lay a Riolu, curled up on the ground as he remained unconscious. His ocean-blue fur waved in the cold breeze.

The young Fighting-type shivered, bringing his paws to his shoulders and his knees to his chest. He whimpered, eyelids clenching tightly as he embraced himself further. The wind picked up, evolving into a mighty gale. The blades of grass all bent to its will and caressed him with their crisp edges like a thousand icy fingers.

His red eyes snapped open, waking with a sudden scream. He scrambled up to his feet and stared behind him as his heart tried to pound out of his chest. The wind slowly began to die down again, and the blades of grass stood up once again, like tiny army preparing for battle. Gently he shook his head, an embarrassed smile furling on his face as he slowly fell down onto the dirt. Panicking over such a simple matter… Luckily no one was here to see that. Through half-open eyes, he looked down at the ground between his legs… his black-furred legs…

"What the…" the Riolu whispered, head tilted as he reached out to touch them. But then, into his sight slowly drifted a paw coated in blue fur.

The Riolu yelped as he jumped back, retracting his paw as stared at it, wide-eyed and panting heavy, stuttering breaths. He tried to turn his wrist, and the paw then turned around, revealing the soft pink paw pad. Then he tried to move his fingers, and instead the toes began to move rhythmically, like it was trying to crawl its way forward.

"No…" the Riolu whispered. His head shook violently. "No. No, no. No no no no no. This can't be happening." He looked down to his chest. It was a patch of black fur with a jagged border leading into the ocean blue abdomen that then cut off at the upper thigh.

"This is impossible," he said to himself. "This… I'm not… a dream!" he exclaimed, almost excited. "That's it. It's gotta be a dream… yeah…" the Fighting-type raised his arm towards his mouth, and then sank his teeth into the skin. He yelped in pain. No dice.

"God _damn it!_ " he growled, slamming his curled paw into the dirt. He pressed his lips together and tried his best to keep his breathing regulated. It was difficult. Either he was going insane, or this was inexplicably real.

But, it wasn't real. It couldn't be. Not that long ago he had been… in… where had he been again? Of course he had to be in his room, laying under his… What was it? He knew there was something- he could _feel_ there was something just beyond his grasp-, but his mind was blank. Infuriatingly blank. He squinted his eyes and pressed his paw on his temple, trying to squeeze out memories through pure force. He wanted anything he could get his hands on. Just a single drop of water to satisfy the weary desert traveler- a lone match to provide a sphere of light in the darkness. A birthday, a favorite color, a food he liked to eat, _anything_ that hinted at a life before this one. He just stared into the blackness of a void that was his vault of memories, completely empty. That is, save for two small little glimmers, seemingly worthless trinkets that reflected whatever light was cast in there. On any other day, they would be trivial, worth less than nothing, but they were precious to him.

The first was a fact he already knew: before all this, he was human, flesh and all. And the second was merely a name- nothing more, nothing less. He knew not if it was his, or even if it belonged to anyone it knew, but it was one of the only memories he had. He sure as hell wasn't going to throw it away; the name, Riley.

It was a moment later, after escaping his thoughts, that he remembered where he was: in the brisk morning air in the middle of some God-forsaken field. He placed his paws flat-out on the dirt, pushing himself up to his feet (if he could even call them that). His eyes could barely see over the grass, but for miles and miles that was all he could see: a sea of amber running parallel to a sea of a sunrise sky, grayish purple clouds scattered like a chain of islands. That is, save for the wall of mountains behind him.

He turned around to face the chain of stone behind him, nearly dividing the skies in two. And it, too, seemingly went on for as far as his eyes could see, each one capped in snow. They must have been almost a mile high, each. Never before had he felt so small.

Whatever this world was, he wasn't going to accomplish anything by standing around. His only options were to wade out into the grass, or try his luck in the mountains… Or, he could just walk parallel to the chain, hoping to eventually stumble upon something. And with nothing out there in the field, and certain death waiting for him on his climb up, the young Fighting-type went with his third option.

Walking in this new body felt rather awkward compared to what he once knew. It was much lighter for one, but the weight was off-balance almost to a fault. With a proportionately bigger head, he felt a bit top-heavy when he moved, making the rest of his body feel springier and more agile. Part of him wanted to try out a bit more advanced movements, honing his motor functions, but he needed to conserve h-

The Riolu froze in his place as something passed by, rustling in the grass as it scurried along. He darted his eyes towards the movement, one arm instinctively held out in front of him for defense.

"W-who's there?" he asked.

His answer came in the form of a low, bestial growl, as ahead of him emerged a purple Nidoran that glared at the Riolu with ravenous hunger. The Riolu drew back defensively, until his ear twitched. Behind him a light blue Nidoran stamped her foreleg in the dirt. Drool dripped from the corner of her mouth.

"H… hey there…" he chuckled anxiously, turning so that he could keep both Nidoran in his peripheral vision. Slowly, methodically, the two Poison-types approached a step at a time. They didn't look friendly, but the Riolu didn't know what else to do. "Do you know where I am? I just woke up here a few minutes ago, so… uh…" Not knowing what else to do, he chuckled again. The two Nidoran answered only in bestial growls. Before he knew it there was only about ten yards between him and them.

Out of desperation the Riolu summoned his courage. "Stay back," the Fighting-type barked, both arms held up to protect him. His eyes rapidly darted between the two approaching Pokemon. They were weaker Pokemon on the spectrum, sure, but… he couldn't really be all that high-level himself, could he? Even if he was, there was still the type disadvantage…

The two Pokemon got even closer still, now within a mere five feet. He had to make up his mind now or never: flee or fight. Run away as fast as he could, hopefully leaving them behind, or to fend for his life so he could calmly walk away from this… But this body still felt so awkward to him. If he tried to run, he would just stumble and fall, and then… But if he couldn't even run, how could he expect to pull off the complex maneuvers a fight would require?

His decision ended up being an instinctual one when the male Nidoran pounced forward, horn aimed at the Riolu like a javelin. He jumped to the side, a blur of purple whizzing by his head. Arms held out in front of him, the Fighting-type pivoted around, taking a defensive stance. The female Nidoran charged ahead as her brother landed in the dirt, sliding on all fours.

The Riolu reached for the light lavender horn, gripping it tightly in his paws, and planted one foot on the ground with all his strength. Gritting his teeth, he spun around, lifting the Poison-type up and off the ground. She shrieked and kicked frantically as she was whirled around faster and faster, her tormenter equally as confused and frightened as she was.

The male shrieked in rage, then again pounced into the air. His front legs reached out in front of him and his horn led the charge. The Riolu then let go of the female, letting the momentum throw her into her brother. The two Nidorans yelped, bouncing off one another and falling back to the ground. Raising his paws close to his face, these unfamiliar paws to an equally unfamiliar body, turning his wrists to get a good look as he struggled to figure out how he knew how to do that.

Another low, bestial growl rumbled from the male's throat as the purple Nidoran got up to its feet.

"Go away," the Riolu ordered. "I don't need to fight you, whoever you are. I'll go-" In a sudden leap, the female Nidoran leapt out from the amber grass. The Fighting-type pivoted around, just in time for the horn to cut through his size, tearing skin and fur as her weight pushed him to the ground. He winced in pain, pressing his paw against the wet wound.

The female squealed with joy for but an instant, until the Riolu swung his right arm instictively into her chin. For a moment she was dazed, and her grip weakened in a daze.. Gritting his teeth, he followed this up with another slug to her chest, pushing her off of him.

He scrambled to his feet began to run away as fast as he could, feet pressing off the dirt with all the strength he had. He moved his left paw away from the wound to see a faint stripe of red lining the pad. "Damn it," he mumbled, tightly clasping the wound again. No one around to help for miles, save for the two Poison-types chasing after him.

It only took him about ten feet or so before he began to feel a growing numbness inside him. All feeling in his torso left him, then fading into his legs and his arms. His strides became more sluggish and sporadic, almost becoming a waddle. And after another ten feet, his legs couldn't carry him any further, and the confused Fighting-Type collapsed to the ground once again, unable to move his body.

"Poison…" he wheezed. Behind him the two Nidoran were strolling up to him. In that instant he went from disliking the two out of confusion, to loathing them with every fiber of his being. If his veins didn't feel icy cold from the venom coursing in them, they would be boiling from anger. The Riolu laid there trembling, confused and scared and angry and limp. He felt like a butterfly trapped in a spider's web as the predator grew nearer and nearer. His vision grew darker and darker, dragged into the void more empty than his memories. All he could see was an amber blob, and a blurry, purple front leg almost right next to his face.

A faded chorus of grunts passed between the two Nidoran, bickering in some primal language, until the male grew silent. Gently but firmly a set of purple fangs bit down on the scruff of his neck. The Riolu's vision scrolled as he was dragged by his legs across the dirt. At least, presumably that's what was happening. There was still no sense of touch in his body, but his angle of sight shifted ever so slightly.

That is, until he heard a sudden burst pierce through the near-silence. The Nidoran, male, was sent flying into the sea of grass, bits of blue flames trailing behind him, swirling in the gentle wind. The female started a shocked, cry was cut off as soon as it started. With a grunt, she sprawled out on the ground, rolling over a few times down the gentle slope. A blurry plume of the blue flame came across the Riolu's sight, forming a beautiful flower of fire.

"You okay?!" the Riolu heard shout behind him, accompanied by the crunching of gravel beneath his feet. The figure slid down near him, stopping right in front of him and carefully eyeing his wound. From the looks of it, he was a Charmander, soft blue eyes filled with worry. Teeth gritted, he looked up to someone the Riolu could not see. "He's bleeding," the Charmander explained. "Get some berries from the bag."

"On it," replied another voice, feminine, followed by some fumbling around in a burlap sack.

The Charmander looked back down to the Riolu, staring into his barely-open eyes. "You're gonna be alright," he assured him. Everything afterwards became a muffled mess of sounds as the Fighting-type passed out into the void.

…

Moonlight poured in through the window, bathing the room in a pale white light. Six beds, three on each side, lined the walls. Their sheets and pillows were white as freshly fallen snow, and just as pristine. The overly-fresh scent of a citrus-based disinfectant hung in the air.

In one of these beds lay the Riolu, eyes closed as he slumbered with the plush blanket draped over him. Though covered, his hip was lightly bandaged to stop the minor bleeding.

And in a chair in the opposite corner sat an Audino, reading a book behind a cheap desk. Her eyes made their way down the page as she digested an old mystery novel she was half-way through. The cover-art featured a common kitchen knife with what was supposed to be blood running down the edge. It was a tad bit too bright, though, like tomato soup. The title "With All Your Heart" was written in bold silver text underneath the knife. The "blood" trickled down the edge of the 'A' and pooled in between the two poles in the 'H', overflowing and running down the left side and off the cover.

"Was it the butler?" asked a friendly voice. She raised her eyes to see a Gallade, tall and proud, standing in the doorway. He was larger than most of his kind, almost having to duck under the door to avoid getting the crest upon his head caught. Though the right side of his face still resided in the shadows of the night, the majority of his caring smile was on display.

"Doubt it," Audino replied, turning back to her book. "Considering there is no butler yet, it's unlikely."

There was a brief but awkward pause between them. The smile faded into a faint grin.

"Is the kid alright?" Gallade asked, pointing to the unconscious Riolu.

"He's fine," Audino answered. "The cut wasn't even that deep. It was just a bit of poison that brought him down."

"Poison?" Gallade repeated.

"Nothing serious, by itself. All it did was paralyze him and put him unconscious," she explained. "But, if those two hadn't come across him when they did…"

The Psychic-type took a few more steps further into the room, setting his eye upon the small Pokemon laying on the bed. His hands folded behind his back as the smile left altogether.

"Do me a favor and fetch the two that found him, will you?" he asked of her.

"Team Hellraisers?" she clarified. "They'd be asleep by now. Why would you-"

"Then wake them up," Gallade demanded. Audino, silent, placed a bookmark between the pages and set the novel down as she stood up slowly and walked out of the room, turning to go down the hall where all the dorms resided.

The Psychic-type loomed over the Riolu now, his left eye carefully studying his form. His height, his shoulder width, the length of his muzzle, every strand of hair on his body, and every other little detail was collected and put into a mental model. After a mere ten or fifteen seconds, he put it next to all the others and placed his hand on the Riolu's chest.

"Wake up," Gallade whispered gently as he lightly shook the Fighting-type. Slowly, those young red eyes opened to the darkness, revealing the figure standing in the moonlight.

"Where-"

"You're okay now," he told him. "You were carried all the way to the Guild."

"'Guild'?" the Riolu repeated. Gallade paused for an instant, raising an eyebrow he did not have.

"You haven't heard of the Guild before?" the older Pokemon asked. The Riolu shook his head. Gallade paused yet again, this time longer. His gaze fell to the floor for a second or two before he uncertainly spoke up. "Tell me… what were you doing in the Whispering Prairie?" Gallade asked him.

"I don't… where?" he stammered.

"You know, the dungeon you were found in."

The Riolu cocked his head. So many things weren't making any sense. On the grand scale of things, their definition of a dungeon was on low priority. "I… just woke up there…" The Riolu looked curiously up at the tall Psychic-Type, head tilted as Gallade returned a dissecting gaze back to him. "Why do you care?" he asked.

"It's my job to care," Gallade replied, his voice just above a murmur. "But, in your case… it's because I'm about 90% certain you're not a Pokemon."

"Mmhmm," the Riolu replied. "I was a human before this. At least, I think I was."

Gallade took a short breath and turned away, staring out the window and into the heavens. His face was as pale as the moonlight he basked in. "I'd keep that just between us," he suggested.

"Why's that?" the Riolu asked.

"Humans aren't exactly liked around here," Gallade had said, "For your own safety, just be quiet about it. Who knows what would happen if they found out who you were…" He took a slow inhale through his nostrils, as if bracing for something neither he nor the kid could identify. A shiver ran up the Psychic-type's spine.

"What did the humans do to make them so hated?" the Riolu asked.

"When I said to be quiet about it, that included asking questions," Gallade snapped. "At least, for now."

"'For now'?" the Riolu repeated. "Why bother waiting to tell me?"

"For a few reasons," Gallade answered. "But mainly because it's not safe right now." He turned briefly to the doorway, staring at the nothingness that stood there with a scowling intensity. "You never know if one of the younger members decided to wake up to get a sip of water."

There was a short pause between them, the atmosphere filled with a tension emanating from the tall Psychic-type. The Riolu slowly sat up in bed, propping himself up with his arms as he curiously analyzed the figure before him. Tilting his head and squinting his left eye, the blue-furred Pokemon slowly uttered a single phrase: "...Just who are you?"

The Gallade turned back to the Riolu again, now facing him entirely. Moonlight poured in from the window, revealing a faded red scar over the tall Pokemon's permanently closed right eye. With a near-silent gasp, the Riolu almost lost the support of his arms and nearly fell back on the bed.

"Gallade," the Psychic-Type answered, his voice low. "Just Gallade." His arms were coldly folded as they rested on the red horn jutting out of his chest. There was a long moment of silence between them, the taller one looking down at him as the Riolu, unsure of what emotion he necessarily felt, gazed up intensely to the Gallade at the eye he did not have. The Psychic-Type shook his head with a simple smile, leaning down slightly so the boy could get a better view.

"Y-you don't… you're m-missing your…" the Riolu stammered.

"I'm well aware of my missing eye," Gallade chuckled. "There's the whole lack of depth perception that kind of makes me unable to forget."

"I-I'm sorry… i-it just caught me off guard," he admitted. "It's actually kinda cool." If his body was working properly his face would have flushed.

"Cool?" Gallade chuckled. "I get the surprise a lot. Usually they don't admire it… But, enough about me. What about you, hm? You got a name?"

"Well… I think I do," he considered. "I don't know if it's mine or not, but it's one of the only things I remember."

"Amnesia…" Gallade assumed, putting a hand on his chin and scratching softly. "Of course you do. They almost always do… So, what is this name?"

"Riley," the small Fighting-Type answered.

"Fitting enough," Gallade stated. "Riley it is, then. Is this all you remember?"

"I think so," the newly dubbed Riley told him.

Gallade opened his mouth to speak, lips parting just a thin sliver, but from the doorway came a tired slur of words. "You called?" asked a feminine voice. There stood the short figure of a Roselia, gently rubbing the sleep out of her left eye with the blue flower.

"Perfect," Gallade said, bringing his hands together in a lone clap. "Miss Rose, I'd like to introduce you to Riley; the boy you saved earlier."

"Wait, what?" Riley exclaimed, confusingly staring at the small Grass-type. He reached into his fuzzy mind for the few minutes before he woke up, back in the sea of grass apparently named Whispering Prairie. Just as he was passing out, numb from the poison, then came the bursts of fire… and then the Charmander, followed by a quick statement by a feminine voice… was that her?

Her weary gaze shifted to the Riolu laying in the bed, who shyly looked back at her with wavering eyes. "What about him?" she asked.

"About who?" inquired yet another voice, male. And behind the Grass-type approached a Charmander, peering in the doorway as he towered over her. His kind blue eyes settled upon Riley on the other end. "Oh, he's awake," he said with a smile, stepping past the Roselia and moving towards the Riolu.

"Sorry to wake you two at this hour," Gallade apologized. "But, I was talking with Riley here, and… well, he doesn't have any memories." The Charmander stopped suddenly, shifting his gaze between the guildmaster and the Riolu.

The Roselia curiously stared at Riley, head tilted slightly. "Amnesia?" she assumed, her voice low.

"It seems so," Gallade replied. "But, I want to ask you… was there anything you noticed about him when you found him out there?"

"What do you mean?" the Roselia asked.

"Did he have any items near him? Even something like an apple or a berry?" he clarified.

"We didn't really look," the Charmander admitted with his head lowered. "At the time we think to keep searching. I just wanted to make sure he was safe." Gallade shifted his eye to the floor, staring intently at seemingly nothing with his fists clenched. "S-sorry," the Fire-type mumbled meekly. "I… I-"

"Don't worry about it," Gallade dismissed, smiling down at him in a sudden transformation. "After all, you'll be going back tomorrow to complete your mission, right? You could just look around then."

"How are we supposed to…" the Roselia started, but trailed off as she answered her own question. "We're bringing him back there ourselves, aren't we?" she asked.

"Sharp as ever," Gallade commented. He peered out the window briefly, for no more than a second or two before turning towards the doorway. "It's getting late. You can stay up for a little bit longer, but you should make sure to head to bed before too long." He casually waved goodnight to them as he stepped past the Roselia, turning sharply and disappearing into the darkness.

There was an awkward moment of silence between the three children now that the guildmaster was gone, broken only when the Grass-type began slowly walking further in. "So, 'Riley'," she said to the Riolu. "You don't have any memories, huh?"

"Uh… no," he uncomfortably answered, briefly glancing away. "I don't."

"'Riley'," the Charmander repeated, head cocked to the side. "Weird… most Pokemon don't have a name."

"They don't?" Riley asked, puzzled.

"Most of us have names we get attached to eventually," the Roselia piped up. "But, for most Pokemon, we spend so many years going by a name that it just seems… _off_ to change it, y'know?"

"I guess so," he hesitantly answered, a paw on the back of his head.

The Charmander extended his left claw towards the Riolu, a friendly smile upon his face as his kind blue eyes stared directly into Riley's red ones; red, like an exotic flower. "Nice to meet someone else with a name. Mine's Pyro."

"'Pyro'?" Riley repeated, raising an eyebrow he did not have. Instinctively he grabbed the outstretched claw and shook it gently.

"And they call me Rose," the Grass-type added. "I'd offer to shake hands, but… well, thorns. You get it."

"So, I guess you'll be tagging along with us, tomorrow," Pyro said.

"Guess so…" he replied, speaking barely above a whisper.

"What, a bit nervous?" the Charmander asked. Riley nodded, but he wasn't quite sure if he was. Thinking about going back actually intrigued him. The wound at his side began to burn ever so slightly. "Don't be," Pyro encouraged, patting him on the back. "We'll be there to keep you safe."

There was another moment of silence. A long, awkward moment, as if time had stood still. Again, this was broken by Rose, as she exhaled sharply before calling to her partner. "Come on, let's leave him alone," she ordered.

"But we just started talking," Pyro whined.

"He has amnesia, remember?" she scolded. "This is probably confusing for him. And he doesn't need someone he just met all up in his face right now."

"Well… I-I guess you're right," he pouted. "Sorry."

"It's fine," Riley replied, feigning a smile. Pyro turned around and walked away, his gaze shifted to the stone floor. As he left through the doorway, he turned and gave one quick wave to the Fighting-type before vanishing from sight.

"Make sure to tell me if you remember something," Rose murmured to Riley, before turning back around and following her partner.

Now alone, Riley leaned back in the guest bed of the infirmary. His paws were positioned beneath the back of his head, propping him up to comfortably gaze out the window. Moonlight continued to stream in and highlight the other side of the room. This room… it was part of the guild, right? Aren't guilds supposed to have a lot of peop- uh, Pokemon in them? So why did this place feel so… _empty_? There are more beings in the world than the ones he encountered, right?

Irritated, Riley shook his head lightly as he turned over in bed, now facing the doorless doorway with tired eyes. He didn't have the cognitive ability to think things out right now. It would be better to just wait until morning. The Riolu closed his eyes and slowed down his breathing, hoping that he would be able to manage to find slumber.

…

Audino now sat in the empty mess hall, illuminated by a glowing crystal she had placed on the table. The light was a beautiful jade color, bathing the pages of the book as she read through it with wide eyes. She inched closer and closer to it, as if someone were trying to take it away from her.

"Is now a bad time?" asked a voice. She looked up, startled, to see Gallade standing there. Again.

"A little bit," she sighed, marking her page and closing the book, annoyed.

"I'll keep it quick, I promise," he told her, sitting down across from Audino.

"Shoot," she said back to him.

"Keep an eye on the Riolu we just got," he whispered, leaning in close. Audino tilted her head. "I think we have another human in our hands."

"Another one?" she asked in disbelief. Gallade nodded to clarify. "Geez…" Her gaze uncomfortably shifted from one end of the room to the other. "You finally gonna tell Rhyperior about it?"

"He doesn't need to know," Gallade said. "It's better if he doesn't, actually."

"If any of this ever gets out…" Audino trailed off. A shiver ran down her spine.

"It won't," he assured her, his eye staring into hers. "I'll keep them here and safe. No one will have to know."

"Comforting thoughts, but…" She shook her head violently, as if trying to fight something off.

"They're not just thoughts," Gallade said, sternly. The look in his eye changed, from a sympathetic glance to a passionate stare- a stare that pierced right through the Normal-type and stared at seemingly nothing. The scar where his right eye used to be appeared to pull itself tighter. "They're not," he muttered to himself. His fists were clenched tightly, the sharp ends of his fingers tearing through his skin.


	2. Chapter 2: His First Taste

Riley awoke a few hours later, just as the sunlight began to shine upon the lands again. The sky outside the window was an entire blanket of baby blue, with not even the faintest of wispy clouds tarnishing it. His eyes opened slowly as a beam of sunlight shot into them. He groaned with irritation as he raised his paw to block the ray.

"Good morning," a voice greeted him. He glanced over to see a plump, grandmotherly Audino smiling back at him, sitting in a chair behind a cheap, small table. It was barely bigger than a nightstand. The Fighting-type stared at her in confusion for a moment, trying to see if he could place who she was.

"Are you the nurse here?" he guessed.

"Mmhm. The name's Audino," she told him. "Did you have a nice rest?"

Riley nodded. "The beds are surprisingly soft," he complimented.

"Gallade decided to splurge a bit and get good beds in here a few years back," she explained. "Consider yourself lucky. Usually, there'd be someone else in here. And first thing in the morning, all their friends would rush in to see if they're okay. You wouldn't be able to sleep a wink."

"Speaking of," Riley said, "why is it so quiet? Shouldn't a guild be…" He stopped when his gaze met the doorway, now sealed with a heavy wooden door. "That wasn't there last night, was it?" he asked, pointing to it.

"It was there," she answered simply. "The door opens outwards. I closed it for you to block off the noise. It can get loud out there in the mornings."

"Soundproofing?" Riley assumed.

"Disturbances can be bad for patients who need rest," Audino told him.

The Fighting-type opened his mouth to speak, but he stopped suddenly as the door squeaked open on rusted hinges. A choir of chatter flooded into the room, almost deafening in volume. And in walked a Kirlia, closing the door behind him as he entered. His hair was cut shorter than most, only going down to around his neck in tangled green locks. A pair of red eyes stared straight into Riley, mentally dissecting him and picking him apart.

"Oh, Kirlia," Audino greeted to the Psychic-type. "I thought you'd already left."

"I'm just about to," Kirlia answered. "The Guildmaster told me to come and fetch Riley. That'd be him, right?" He pointed to the Riolu.

"Yep," Audino replied. "He's bandaged up a bit, but it should be fine by now." She turned to the Fighting-type as well. "Y'hear that? Go ahead and remove the bandages."

Nodding, Riley threw the sheets off of him, revealing a light wrapping around his hips. He formed a rip through it with his nails, and then grabbed it with one paw and easily tore it in half before unraveling. After a few laps, it had all loosely began to fall, and he wadded it all up in a baseball-sized clump, which he tossed in the trash as he walked towards the doorway.

"Good luck," Audino wished him, smiling faintly.

"Thanks," Riley said back.

Kirlia opened the door once again, letting in a rush of prattle from the outside. There were dozens of Pokemon out there, all talking and laughing as they stood around. A Houndour eagerly ran down the hall with a Poochyena tiredly trying to keep up. A Staravia and a Prinplup pointed at a board outlined in green, where several sheets of paper were posted, and a larger group of a Blastoise, a Dragonite, and a Jolteon were conversing over a piece of paper with a picture of a Greninja that they'd taken off of a board outlined in red.

"C'mon," Kirlia ordered, waving him towards him as he walked. Riley nodded and began to follow. His eyes wandered around to get a general idea of the room he was in. It was a hexagonal room, at least a hundred feet or so wide in each direction. And on each of the six walls, there was a doorway. Above the infirmary he just emerged from, there was a white block with a red plus. To the left of that was a large, open room with tables lined up in an 8x12 grid. A picture of a spoon crossing over a steak knife stood over a large, open doorway. Further left to that was a long, long hallway with a gargantuan vault on the far end of it. Next to that was a small little hollow area, no more than six feet deep, with a ladder that climbed up into a new floor, and next to that a tunnel that branched out repeatedly.

And finally, on the sixth wall, was a long hallway with a grand wooden door at the end. It looked like it had been ripped straight from a palace. Elegant patterns of gold decorated the wood, climbing up like vines on ruins to a long-since abandoned civilization. The Psychic-type made his way towards the sixth room, Riley following closely behind. Kirlia reached his hand out as he walked and telekinetically moving the left door.

As the door swung open, it revealed a small office. There was a mahogany desk inside, with two stacks of papers on one side, a much smaller stack of blank paper on the other, and an ink well with a quill pen resting inside. Right behind the desk, there was a grand window taking up most of the wall. And through it one could see for miles upon miles upon miles. The land stretched from a rocky outcrop, with pillars of dusty stone jutting out of the ground, into a small plains-like area that wasn't too remarkable, to a series of rolling, forested foothills, until eventually hitting a chain of mountains in the distance.

Behind the desk in an old wicker rocking chair sat the guildmaster, Gallade, with his hands folded. The gaze of his left eye was settled upon the wall just to the left of the door before it shifted over to Kirlia.

"I've brought him," Kirlia stated, a hint of irritation in his tone.

"I can see that," Gallade replied, putting on a welcoming smile. "Thank you. You can go back to your duties."

Kirlia nodded briefly before turning around and walking away. And as Riley entered in his place, the door dragged itself closed behind him. He glanced over to the left, where a row of six chairs lined the wall. And on two of them sat the two from last night, and his apparent saviors: the Roselia and the Charmander.

"Mornin'," Pyro greeted him. Riley waved in response, smiling faintly. Rose glanced over momentarily, acknowledging him, and then gave a short, little nod.

"Glad to see you're up and well," Gallade commented. "But I don't want to waste any time here. Team Hellraisers."

"Yessir?" Rose exclaimed, hopping off of the chair and saluting. Pyro stood up just after her, standing over her in the same pose.

"Go again and continue your mission in Whispering Prairie," he ordered. "But now, you have another assignment tacked on: escort Riley, and try and find anything he might have dropped."

"Didn't you say this last night?" Riley inquired.

"Not as a direct order," Gallade answered. "Besides, there was something I wanted to give you. Y'know, to keep you safe out there."

The three kids curiously watched as the guildmaster stood up from his chair, making his way to an old chest he had in the corner of his room. Calling it a 'chest' is a bit dishonest, because in all honesty, it was practically a cedar sarcophagus. He had a surprisingly somber aura to him, his single eye looking upon the chest like the grave of a dear friend. With a deep breath, Gallade raised his left hand towards the chest's lock, telekinetically moving around the latches and pins. And with his right, he moved to open the lid, revealing the treasures stored inside.

First he had removed four large, leather bound books, going from red, to green, to blue, and then to brown. They had been bound together by a pink ribbon, surprisingly pristine and polished, save for a few stains. Next, was another leather bound book, this one about half as thin but with pages thrice the size. A photo album, presumably. Spheres of every color of the rainbow, a broken crown of iron, a jar with some unidentifiable object suspended in an odd purple ooze… After sifting through all these alien objects for a few seconds, he finally extracted a mere burlap sack from the mess, carefully cradling it in his arms like a child.

"I need to organize that thing one of these days," he muttered to himself. From the bag he proceeded to pull out a scarf dyed an unnatural red. One could wander the entire world, from the deepest jungles to the highest mountains, from the damning deserts to the frozen tundras, and no hue like it would be found. So, it was no wonder that the children's gaze fell onto it with an uncertain awe, like fish to an angler's light. "How many years has it been now, since you've seen the light of day?" he muttered to himself.

"What is that?" Pyro asked, demanding to know.

"It is known as the Scarlet Scarf," Gallade answered, staring at the cloth with disdain. "Its former wearer was a good friend, using the benefits as an Explorer to help Pokemon all over."

"'Benefits'?" Riley repeated.

"There are a lot of items out there that Pokemon will use to enhance themselves. Strength, speed, endurance, special abilities… the list is nearly endless," Gallade explained. "This one here… it was an odd one. No others like it anywhere in the world." He held out his hand towards Riley, letting the fabric cascade out. "Take it," he demanded. "It'll keep you safe out there."

"But, what does it do?" the Fighting-type asked.

"It's a bit complicated, but what it'll give you certain…" He waved his hand around in small circles as he tried to think of the correct word. "Buffs, I guess, depending on the situation. If you're taking a beating, it'll boost your defenses. If you're going in for a barrage, it'll increase your strength. Running away, and you'll get a boost in your speed."

"That's… incredible," Rose whispered, skeptically gazing up at the Guildmaster. "Why would such an item be stored in a chest like that, to be out of commission for however many years?"

"Relics hold a lot of history behind them," Gallade said. "History gives them value, often overwhelming their original intent with the identity of those that held them. A crown that sits and gathers dust is nothing but a decoration. And, I don't think he would've wanted that. It's time to put the scarf back out into the world."

Hesitantly, Riley reached over for the scarf, feeling the fabric between his fingers. It was soft and smooth, like silk, but a bit firmer. And it was warm, as if it had been laying for hours in the sun. Gallade let go, letting the rest of it flutter down into his waiting hands.

"Just make sure nothing happens to it," Gallade warned him. "That is all. You're dismissed."

"Yessir," Rose replied, masking her uncertainty as she broke her solute. Pyro followed her lead, breaking his pose and making his way towards the door. "C'mon," she pushed, signalling Riley to tail them.

"Right," he replied, walking after them as he attempted to tie the scarf around his neck. The knot was rather sloppily done, and any good tug would pull it free. And it certainly wasn't stylish in the slightest. But, why would he put in the effort if he was just gonna have to give it back at the end of the day, anyways? The Charmander pulled one of the doors open, holding it as the Roselia walked through, and soon after, the Riolu. Pyro left a moment afterwards, closing the door behind him.

Gallade was alone in his office now- something that was not all that rare. His hand, the same one that was holding that Scarlet Scarf only seconds ago, was held mere inches from his face as his eye bored into it, catching it in all of its sins. Disgustedly angry, he turned away towards the window, staring out into the distance. Past the rocky outcrop, past the plains, past the forested foothills, and past the chain of mountains, and aiming his gaze at another mountain, all by its lonesome far beyond the chain. And it towered over them all, piercing into the heavens. Clouds blocked it off before one could even reach halfway up.

"Forgive me," he muttered to himself, placing his hand, his sinful hand, against the glass.

…

It was later that afternoon, and after a crowded caravan the three had managed to pay for a ride up to the north, where the dungeon awaited them. They were dropped off a few miles away, and after a short walk they reached the dungeon's entrance in no time. The journey might've taken days for smaller Pokemon like them, but with the help of a few strong Rapidash and Zebstrika, they made it there in only a few hours.

Everything was just as it was the day before. A gale blew across an endless sea of grass, whispering sweetly to the three that had just arrived. For miles upon miles, there was only an eternal field, and the wall of mountains behind them. Not even the dust of the caravan's trail could be seen in the distant path they had taken.

"So," Riley said to himself. "I guess this is a Mystery Dungeon…"

"That's right," Pyro answered him.

"Seems like an odd name," Riley commented.

"Because they're odd places," Rose replied. "Shifting layouts, one exit, hostile inhabitants…"

"Wait." The Riolu froze. "How the hell do the layouts shift?"

"They're called 'Mystery Dungeons' because, well, they're mysteries," Pyro shrugged. "It's not our job to study them. We're the ones they'd call to protect those who do."

"Weird," he murmured.

"Just don't question it," Pyro urged. "You'd get a headache if you thought about it too long. For now, let's just continue on the mission."

"I probably should have ask earlier, but just what is the mission?" Riley asked.

"Lost item retrieval," the Charmander answered. "Just like you, I guess."

"A bit underwhelming," he muttered.

"Tell me about it." Pyro rolled his eyes. "But not every job can be a fun one. Sometimes we gotta do the grunt work."

"I'm going on ahead," Rose stated. "This place isn't too much of a problem, so I should be fine on my own." Pyro nodded in confirmation. The Roselia turned around hastily, wading into the endless field and vanishing beneath the grass. For a moment, the brilliant reds and blues of her flowers could be faintly seen through gaps in the waving plant life, until all that was left was a rustling that quickly drowned out in the rest of the dungeon's eternal billow.

"I know this is a stupid question," said the Charmander, beginning to walk alongside the wall of grass, "but you didn't remember anything new, did you?"

"Don't think so, no," Riley answered, following.

"Thought that'd be the case," he sighed. "Then, I guess it'll be up to us to find anything you might've dropped."

"What'd happen if we didn't?" Riley asked out of curiosity.

"That'd be your choice," Pyro stated. A short period of silence passed between them, until the Charmander abruptly stopped and stared out into the grass. "This is probably enough," he guessed. "Stay close, okay?"

Riley nodded. The Charmander pushed aside the wisps of grass, treading into them, and vanishing beneath the surface just as Rose had done a minute prior. With a deep breath, the Riolu entered behind him. And just as the top of his head vanished beneath the surface, the wind burst into a mighty gale, forcing the unsuspecting Riolu onto the ground. The plantlife danced and shifted around, its rustling choir of whispers almost deafening to him. But, just as quickly as it had started, the gale was back to a comforting breeze.

He scrambled back to his feet, confused and startled and gasping for breath, and frantically looking around him. The grass had parted, giving a long pathway that stretched out in a long hall before taking a sharp right turn.

"W-what the-"

" _Mystery_ Dungeon," Pyro reminded him. He pivoted around, signalling for the Fighting-type to follow as he began forward. Riley obeyed and walked closely behind- a mere six inches behind the swinging arc of the flame on the end of the Charmander's tail, his guiding torch. "If you have any questions, I can bring you to someone back at the guild that'd fill you in," he stated, rounding a corner in the path. "But for now, just stay on the cleared routes."

"Why?" Riley asked.

"Long story short, you'd get lost," Pyro answered.

"Oh."

"Yeah."

"Probably should have said that first."

"I figured th-... hold on a second." The Charmander's gaze was fixated upon a Rattata, staring back at the two outsiders, snarling and brandishing its two large buck teeth. It was a frail little thing, with skin that clung to its bones and eyes that radiated its hunger.

"Who is this?" Riley asked nervously.

"They're a wild Pokemon," Pyro answered, stepping forward. Flames spilled out of the corner of his mouth as an Ember built up in his throat. "This one isn't too strong, but they can do a number on you if you drop your guard."

The frail Normal-type stepped forward, closing the distance to just a bit more than a few feet away. With a deep breath, the Charmander arched his neck forward and spat forth a ball of flames. The Rattata jumped to the side, barely dodging as the Ember collided with the dirt and nearly instantly snuffing itself out. Snarling, the Rattata leapt forward and into the air. Pyro took a step to the side and slammed down his claw on the Normal-type's back. With a yelp of pain, it was smitten into the dirt, its body splayed out. The Fire-type stamped his foot into its spine, pinning it there as he again gathered a cluster of flames.

And all the while, less than a yard behind stared the Riolu at the small creature, watching it struggle and writhe underneath the lizard's foot. High-pitched whines and groans escaped the rodent's mouth. All he could think, his head tilted just so, was _How sad…_ The way it squirmed seemed so juvenile and pathetic, like an infant struggling for life. So basic was its nature, in the ways that its beady brown eyes glared up at its captor. _Can't even call it 'pitiful'_ , he thought to himself.

The Ember propelled out of the Fire-type's jaw, engulfing the Rattata in a coat of flames. It thrashed about for but a moment, crying its whiny cries until falling limp with a shuddery breath. Pyro shook his head, removing his foot and turning to a wide-eyed Riley.

"See? Nothing to worry about," he told him. "They'll wake up soon, though. Unless you wanna deal with them yourself, let's go."

"Got it," Riley answered. As the Charmander turned to continue forward, the Riolu took a moment to look at the unconscious Rattata, crouching down to inspect it. It appeared to be a regular Pokemon. No odd smog, no discoloration- yet seconds ago it was snarling like a rabid, starving forest creature. And presumably, it would continue to act as such when it awoke. He shook his head with a dissatisfaction and stood up, looking down the path that the Charmander took. But he was gone. Not even the glow of Pyro's flaming tail was within the Riolu's gaze.

"Damn it," he muttered to himself, breaking into a sprint and proceeding down the only available path. But after a mere thirty feet, to his horror he had reached a T-intersection. Left continued on for a short distance before taking a sharp right turn, while the right would take an almost immediate right turn and then continue straight for a while. Worried, he looked down the left path. And then the right. Back to the left. Back to the right. This was getting him nowhere, but there was a coin flip's chance of getting himself even more lost.

Anxiously, the Fighting-type raised himself up to the tips of his toes as he strained himself to peer over the wall of grass. No luck. He brought himself into a crouch before quickly springing up into the air. Still, nothing. The grass towered over him still. He whined to himself. He looked to his left. Back to his right. Nothing, still.

"Great," he sighed to himself. Putting aside his pride, he raised his paws to his muzzle and took a sharp inhale before screaming at the top of his lungs, "HEEEEEEEY!" He paused again, taking a long, quiet breath. The wind had begun to pick up, whispering through the fields and drowning out his cries. "I… WHERE ARE YOU?!"

It was then when a soft thud reached his ears, followed by a low, hungry growl. With a faint gasp, the frightened Riolu spun to face the noise. Standing on the other end of the dungeon's room was a large, bulky Nidorino. Its horn pointed at him like a barrel of a rifle, and a pair of ravenous brown eyes bored into him from behind the toxic point. Its thick hide was coated in rigid edges and spines.

"Hey, there," he instinctively greeted, frozen in place. The wild Pokemon in turn took a few more steps forward. "Nice day we're having, isn't… isn't it?" Oddly enough, it didn't strike up a conversation with the gentleman across from him. He turned to his left again, taking a look down the path. Then to the right, repeating his actions. Both appeared to be clear. A flip of a coin…

But digging into his knowledge of Pokemon, Riley knew that somehow this bulky pseudo-rhino had a higher base speed than him. And he'd be at least level 16, if evolution occurs normally here. Minimum. Compared to his own (whatever it may be), there'd be no chance that he could outrun him. However… the path what was now his right had a few turns in it. A body like a Nidorino's could have difficulties rounding corners. 50% shot it would bring him back to his negligent bodyguard, and it would at the very least get him out of this situation. And possibly into one even worse, but it would be better to take his chances rather than just stay and wait.

And yet, he was still frozen in place, pinned there like a rare insect in a display case. It wasn't fear that was the culprit, either, though it was still present at the scene. Rather, it was an eldritch enthrallment that kept him there, scarlet eyes staring into the hungry brown ones of the Poison-type. _Just what_ is _it going to do?_ he asked himself, with the fascination and the distance of a researcher studying an animal never before seen. The fear inside him thinned out into a cautionary warning.

The Nidorino then let out a short, low roar before breaking into a heavy sprint and barreling towards the Riolu. Its movements were fast for its size, but clunky, like a charging bull. Riley jumped to the side, narrowly avoiding the attack and watching carefully as the wild pokemon came to a screeching halt. A cloud of dust formed as its hind legs dug into the ground.

"Is… was that _it_?" Riley asked himself aloud, arm outstretched towards the Poison-type with his palm facing upwards. The Nidorino turned around, stamping its front foot on the ground twice. "Guess I shouldn't expect more from an undersized rhino," he muttered, widening his stance to keep himself ready. In turn, the wild Pokemon again charged forward and leapt into the air, aimed to crash down onto the Riolu. He dove underneath the Poison-type to evade it, feeling his ears brush against its underbelly before he landed on his stomach.

Adrenaline pumped through his veins as he stared back at it. His heart beat like a war drum. An excited, goofy grin spread across his face. Chuckling, he stood himself and brushed the dirt off of his fur. It were as if he had regressed into a child again, playing out recklessly in the woods until the sun was nearly gone. And why wouldn't he be? This was the kind of scene kids would reenact with their friends. But here he was, actually _living_ every child's fantasy. Turning to flee would be like spitting in the faces of every bit of innocent imagination that has been collectively mustered over the years.

 _Let's see_ … he thought to himself, digging through his small reserve of Pokemon knowledge. _Four moves… A Riolu around my level would only kn-..._ "Shit," he muttered under his breath. What level was he? Do levels even work in this world like they do in the game? As the Poison-type turned around again, nostrils flaring with a built-up rage, he decided that now was probably not the best time to figure this out. Experience is the best teacher, after all… hopefully.

With a deep, nervous breath, Riley began to walk forward. The red scarf around his neck grew comfortingly warm, engulfing his body in the radiating heat, cradling him like an infant in their mother's womb. His fist rapidly switched from a loose to a tight clench, the sound of the rough paw pads scraping together faintly piercing through the now gently blowing winds. The Nidorino in turn began to approach the already approaching Riolu, slowly but noticeably gaining speed. Low, barely audible grunts escaped from the wild Pokemon's barely open jaw as it lowered its head, pointing its horn directly at the intruding Pokemon.

His legs immediately sprung off the ground, rushing the Fighting-type around the Nidorino in a blur. A faint white streak of light trailed behind him for but a moment. His first guess was correct: Quick Attack. 25% compl-

The Nidorino, with a mighty roar, kicked back with its hind legs and crashed its hoof straight into the bottom of Riley's muzzle. He felt some of his bones crack as he soared backwards, skidding and bouncing on the dirt like a toy hurled by a tantruming toddler. Blood had begun to pool in his mouth. His jaw bone moved in jittery, mechanical motions. It wouldn't be until later, though, that the "headache", for lack of a better word, would kick in. And oh, would it be a hell of a kick. Shaking his head, he propped himself up with his two arms behind him and quickly swallowed the small shot glass worth of blood.

"Jesus," he groaned, laughing faintly. "I'll admit, I didn't give you a fair shot earlier. My bad. Now…" Slowly, he stood himself up to his shaking feet. He couldn't feel just how weak his body was now. If it weren't for the adrenaline he would have been wailing and squirming in the dirt. But for now, it sufficed to puppet him around for a while longer. He clenched his fists again, recalling a move that a Riolu could learn in the fairly early levels: Force Palm. "Let's try this again," he laughed, unable to wait for another clash.

But then, out of the blue, a series of vines appeared from seemingly nowhere and began to envelope the Nidorino. The wild Pokemon yelped in confusion, only managing to turn its neck to look at the source before the thorned tendrils began to glow a bright red, and the Poison-type cried out in pain as the dozens of plants sapped away the remains of its health. In mere seconds, the hue on its hyde changed from a plum purple to a faded lavender, like a shirt that had been in the washer a few too many times, and with a defeated gasp, it collapsed.

"You _idiot!_ " screamed a voice from behind the body. The source began storming her way around the unconscious body, revealing herself to be the Roselia from earlier: Rose. "What were you _thinking?!_ "

" _Me?_ What about _you?_ " Riley countered, upset. "I was just about to-"

"Get yourself killed out here? Yeah, no duh," she spat, gesturing to his slightly shifted jawbone. "Consider yourself lucky that you're still _standing_. I don't even know how the hell you're doing that."

"I could've taken it," Riley huffed, crossing his arms.

"Arceus, you're just...I'm done," Rose sighed, raising her blue flower to her forehead. "Where the hell did Pyro run off to?"

Riley turned around and pointed to the T-intersection path. "Down one of those," he answered. "I lagged behind a bit, and he went on ahead. I didn't wanna risk getting myself even more lost, so I stayed put. But," he shrugged, "then that showed up."

"Unbelievable," she muttered, reaching into a small bag that hung by her side. Between the red petals she removed a small seed, no bigger than a pumpkin's. The outer shell had an alluring goldenrod hue to it. "Take this," she offered, extending her arm up towards the Riolu. "If I had to guess, your jaw has less than a minute before it starts hurting. This is like a pain killer. Swallow it, if you can."

"Thanks," he accepted, taking the seed into his paw. He then placed it on his tongue carefully and, with a bit of a struggle, managed to bring it down.

"Don't mention it," Rose dismissed, turning to look down the path. "Just doing my job." She looked carefully down the left route, and then the right. Left again. Right again. Once more, nothing. "Damn it, you stupid lizard," she spat. "Where the hell did you go?"

With nothing else to say, Riley turned around once again and began making his way towards the pale, unconscious body of the Nidorino. There was still the expected, unsettling vibe of being about a fallen beast, not knowing what it will do or not. But now, covered in rapidly withering vines, it seemed so fragile. She only took it out in, what, one attack? That's pathetic. If he actually got the chance to fight it, he could have taken it out in like three or four, easy. If she hadn't shown up out of the blue like that, right now he would be stan… ding… his thoughts froze almost instantly as he came to what should be the obvious realization.

"Hold up a minute," he objected, tilting his head faintly as he again turned to face her. "I thought you entered the dungeon elsewhere. Why're you over here?"

"Doesn't matter," she answered.

"Yeah, I'd think it does," he persisted.

"The adrenaline in your system is gone by now," she stated, still refusing to turn around. "So the 'pain killer' should be kicking in by now."

"Wait, _what?!_ " he exclaimed, taking a wobbly step forward. He tried to clench a fist, but all his paw could muster was a limp clump.

"Don't panic," she attempted to soothe. "You'll wake up in the guild again, all patched up."

"You b… b…! ," The word never came out, for right when it was about to, Riley staggered backwards and collapsed. The last thing he saw was the pleased smirk on her face before his eyelids shut themselves, and he tumbled onto the ground with a soft thud. Out like a light.

"Oi, Riley!" came a cry from up ahead, as if on cue. Pyro.

"We're over here!" Rose shouted back. His footsteps quickened as the Fire-type came panting down the left path. A scratch trailed up his stomach to his chin, and the flame on his tail was a mere candle compared to the fire it was prior.

"I'm _so_ sorry," he pleaded between breaths. "I saw the item we were looking for just up ahead, but when I went for it, there was an ambush, and I…" Pyro's soft blue eyes settled uncomfortably on the drugged Riolu next to the unconscious wild Nidorino. "What happened to him?" he demanded to know.

"Calm down," she urged him. "He's fine. Just passed out. I gave him a Sleep Seed."

"Do I even _want_ to know why?" he hesitantly asked.

"The guy tried to fight the wild guy next to him," she explained with a sigh. "Took a good kick to the jaw and tried to keep going. Lucky for him, I showed up."

"Lovely," he groaned, rolling his eyes. "Now we can't complete the second objective."

"Not true," Rose objected. Before her partner could ask, she reached into her bag and pulled out a small, blue object. It was about the size of a peach, with a sleek texture like a polished ceramic. A few holes around the surface revealed a hollow inside, and on one end appeared to be a spout that tilted out at an angle.

"What is it?" asked a bewildered Charmander, staring at the object with an entranced fixation.

"No clue," she answered. "I was gonna ask the guildmaster if he recognized it when we got back." Rose rotated it a few more times to get a better look before carefully placing it back in her bag. "Speaking of, you said you found the item we needed?" Pyro nodded. "Then let's not waste any more time here."

"Yeah, I get it," the Fire-type mumbled.

…

It was some time late in the day when the sky was set ablaze as Riley awoke. Yet again, he was in the same soft bed of the infirmary, with the soft blanket draped over him. He let out a low groan as he shifted over and pulled himself halfway out of the thin but warm fabric. In a tired daze, he opened his eyes and looked around. He was alone. The desk in the corner was uninhabited, and the remaining five beds were just as empty.

A moment later as he begun to regain himself, he noticed a dull ache pulsating from his jawbone. Curious, Riley gently raised his right paw to its source to discover a small, smooth patch curving with the geometry of his muzzle to cover… _something_. Presumably, whatever mark was left by the kick back in the dungeon.

The Riolu stopped when he noticed something in his peripheral vision. Turning his head revealed it to be a note resting on the bed next to his, perched on the pillow with characters written in a dark purple ink, just barely off from being pure black. He leaned over to inspect the note, reading it as five simple words: "Come to my office. -Gallade." The handwriting seemed unfitting of Gallade's character, with a bit too much personality and polish put into the writing. It seemed to match more with Audino, if anyone.

"Yessir," he groggily mumbled to himself, throwing off the blanket entirely and jumping down from the bed. And it was the moment that his paws hit the cold stone floor that he came to the sudden realization: the scarf was missing. Panic filled his being for a mere fraction of a second as he took a sharp inhale, frantically grasping at his exposed neck. He felt so cold. So, so oddly cold. A moment was taken to calm himself down. "Easy," he attempted to soothe, now becoming aware of how insane he would appear to be to an observer. "They just gave it back to Gallade. So…" He stopped himself, shaking his head to his himself of his thoughts, and then continued forward.

Jumping up to reach the doorknob, he opened the door attached to it and entered the main room of the guild. This late, nearly all of the Pokemon who would have returned from a daily excursion were in their rooms and doing whatever. The only ones left in the main hall were a passing duo of a Luxio and a Buisel that returned a curious glance to Riley for only a second before returning to a conversation about a mission they would take the next day. Something about a lake, from what he couldn't help but overhear.

He made his way over to the elegant, out-of-place doors to the guildmaster's office and gave it two hard knocks. Before his third even hit the wood, the reverberation of the lock's mechanisms sliding into place rang dully, and the door slid open just enough so Riley could squeeze through. He did so, and the door shut behind him.

Gallade sat upon his desk, papers and documents moved aside to give him the room he needed. His being merely a silhouette as he basked in the twilight entering from the window. The Psychic-type kept his right hand held in a way similar to the form a connoisseur holds their wine glass. His left eye was fixated upon the blue, peach-sized object that levitated above his palm.

"Glad to see you're up," Gallade said, blank and motionless.

"It was just a kick," Riley dismissed. "I wouldn't even have gone out cold like that if it wasn't for the side effects on some ' _pain killers_ '."

"That's not why I'm glad, though that's good to hear," Gallade replied. He extended his index finger and pointed it at Riley, and the smooth object floated over to the Fighting-type. "It's about this thing here."

"What is it?" the young Riolu inquired, reaching out to take it into his hands. The tips of his fingers traced along the slick polish, finding themselves naturally falling upon a line of four holes near the top.

"It's called an 'ocarina'," Gallade answered him. "Normally they're a bit bigger than that, but this is a children's model. Blow into the top, why don't you?" Hesitantly, Riley brought it to his lips, putting the spout inside and giving it a quick, sharp exhale. And from the unplugged holes came an equally quick, equally sharp note. An underwhelming silence filled the room the moment the ocarina's billowy chirp ceased.

"Was… was that all it does?" Riley asked, inspecting it more carefully.

"In skilled hands, far from it," Gallade answered. "But in yours, apparently so. It's just an instrument. No sorcery."

"Then why show it to me?" he inquired.

"Before you… ' _collapsed_ ' out there, Miss Rose found that in the dungeon," Gallade explained. "Since an area like that is generally unpopulated, not counting the Wildies, and an ocarina is especially uncommon luxury, I thought that this might be yours. It would appear that isn't the case."

"Yeah, sorry. I got nothing," Riley told him, tossing the ocarina back. Gallade caught it in his left hand and gently placed it on his table.

"Not a problem," Gallade said back. "I didn't expect you to find anything. Humans don't tend to bring over belongings when they transfer. And as expected, you're no abnormality."

"So, we went out and just stole this off the ground?" Riley surmised.

"Technically," the guildmaster answered with a shrug. "But let's put the instrument aside for now." He placed the ocarina down on the table, and stared thoughtfully at the the Fighting-type. "How was it out there in the dungeon?"

"Kinda short," Riley admitted. "It was getting kinda fun before it suddenly stopped." Perhaps there was a little bit of venom in his voice. Not even RIley knew if that's what it truly was.

"So, you want to go back? Is that what I'm hearing?" Gallade asked, a hint of playfulness in his tone. The Riolu across from him nodded and averted his eyes. Without a word, the guildmaster stood up and walked around to behind his desk. The stacks of papers moved themselves back into their prim and proper position, shifting and flipping and twirling until freezing in their perfect position, like it was some plastic set-up in a nuclear testing site. Gallade sat down in his chair and reached underneath the desk, only to pull up a small, brown satchel, which he plopped down on a cleared spot on the surface before him.

"What's that?" Riley asked, almost demanding, his gaze set upon the bag between them. Something was in there; something that he, on a base level, needed to have.

"It's an offer, from me to you," Gallade began as he leaned back in his chair. "Put bluntly, I'd like you to join the guild."

The single statement took the Riolu aback as a rush of thoughts came to his mind, swarming like piranhas to an animal unlucky enough to have fallen in the water. And every one of them was asking one question, chanting it to summon the answer: _why?_ _Why_ would the guildmaster ask a nothing like him to join the guild? _Why_ would he ask first before Riley inevitably requested sanctuary? _Why_ would he accept a human if it meant putting both his and the guild's reputation on the line? So many questions, and yet, he asked none of them. He didn't care what the answers may be. They didn't seem important. All he wanted right there and then was that bag on the table, and whatever was in it with a burning desire.

"Yes," Riley blurted out. His voice rang clear like a church bell.

"Eager, are we?" Gallade snickered. "Glad to hear it. Welcome to the guild." He extended his arm out to the strap of the satchel and gently tossed it to the Fighting-type. Riley slid his paw under the cover, digging around only to feel the warm, silky fabric of the scarf he had adorned earlier. He couldn't believe it. With a sceptical glance, he gently pulled the article out to be greeted by its vibrantly unreal hue of red.

"I…" He struggled to complete his sentence, unsure if he was really willing to be humble this time. "I thought you said this was your friend's," Riley said hesitantly.

"Not anymore," Gallade replied. "The dead can lay no claims to anything but their own deeds." A bitter smile spread across his face, partially hidden by the shadows birthed from the twilight casted from the window. "And like I said, he wouldn't want to see it gathering dust as it had been. Go ahead, put it on."

The Fighting-type looked back down at the Scarlet Scarf again. It was like something out of a Greek epic, woven out of a goddess's hair and dyed in the blood of some mythical eldritch beast. And to have once been adorned by a fallen friend? The value behind this thing, both emotionally and monetarily, must have been incomprehensible. He wasn't worthy of such a treasure. Yet, it was offered to him for free. The swarm of thoughts in his mind kicked up again, becoming a choir of " _Why? Why?_ " echoing through his head. But he ignored them. He didn't care.

"Th-thank you, really," Riley stumbled, gently dropping the bag and carefully tying the scarf around his neck. Its nurturing, blissful warmth coated his body as he tied the final knot.

"You know where the dorms are, right?" Gallade asked. "Yours will be room 317."

"317?"

"Third branch, seventeenth room. They're all labeled for you."

"Oh. But what about the rest of the bag?" Riley inquired.

"They're all self-explanatory," Gallade replied. "If you have any questions, just ask your guildmates."

"Got it," said Riley, putting the satchel's strap over his shoulder and turning towards the door.

"I hope you'll manage to get a night's rest," Gallade called after him. "Tomorrow will be a busy day."

"I'll try," Riley called back. Gallade raised his hand again, activating the telekinetic lock and opening the door for the Fighting-type. He squeezed through again before it shut back behind him with a heavy, dull slam.

The Guildmaster levitated the ocarina in front of his face once again, watching the glossy instrument gradually rotate in place. He couldn't help but to notice the effort that its crafter put into making such a beautiful treasure. Whoever owned it must have valued it indeed. But all it would take was one good throw against a wall to shatter it. It would be so easy. And Gallade knew that it would make it easier. But… for now it did no harm.

…

The dorms Gallade spoke of branched off from one another from the open tunnel on the wall right from the guildmaster's office. There were a total of 12 different tunnels, each spaced out with roughly 20 feet of stone. Above the farthest left tunnel, someone had written in a white chalk-like substance "101-150." The one immediately right of that had "201-250," and to the right of that had "301-350", and so on until the final twelfth tunnel. There, it simply had written "MISC". Peering down this hall would reveal roughly a dozen locked doors, and nothing more.

With a deep breath, Riley began making his way down the third tunnel. The rooms were all along the left wall, spaced out every fifteen feet or so where an archway lead into a 12x10x8 room was carved out of the ground. The following day he would learn that most of the inhabitants stayed in the first four halls, taking up the rooms in the front. With a total of 550 rooms, exactly 71 of them were inhabited. The majority of them were, for now, on reserve in case of a natural disaster. With the guild's heavy fortification, the town would be safe in there while things would rebuild.

Nearly all the rooms were filled tonight with a variety of Pokemon, most in their first or second evolution. A Tyrogue and a Flaaffy laid back on soft but simple piles of hay as they wistfully discussed their adventures from the day in the darkness left by an extinguished torch still glowing red. Pieces from a game hit a checkered board as a Furret gently placed down a rook-looking thing, smirking faintly as he challenged the Munchlax across from her. A Poliwhirl revealed their hand of cards to a Watchog and a Castform, laughing confidently as they became distressed. But none of them gave Riley the light of day. The most he would get was a curious glance before they returned to whatever activity they were doing beforehand.

Above each doorway their number was written in chalk, and it wasn't long before Riley stumbled upon 317. It was no different than the others. Two piles of hay that were supposed to suffice for beds, two wall-mounted torches on either end of the room, and a section cut out of a tree trunk that served as a table. And, also like the others, it was inhabited. A Charmander sat at the table with a wooden block in his hands, whittling away at the edges with his claws. Slivers had been swept neatly into a small pile. And on the other end, a Roselia lay on her stomach on the cold stone floor, a book nearly as big as her opened before her. The Charmander looked up to the surprised Riolu and greeted him with his usual warm smile.

"Welcome," Pyro beamed.

"What are you two doing here?" Riley asked, trying his best not to sound too rude.

"We…" Pyro looked to his partner with uncertainty. "We _live_ here."

"But Gallade told me-" Riley stopped himself, the realization dawning on him. He exhaled sharply through his nostrils and shook his head in annoyance. "Crafty old man," he muttered under his breath.

"What, he didn't tell you that you've been assigned to our team?" Rose piped up, looking up from her book.

"Nope," Riley answered. "For whatever reason, he left it as a surprise. I didn't even know I was getting thrown onto a team, period."

"What did you expect, that he'd send an amnesiac out into the world whose only seen one battle?" Rose scoffed.

"Hey, I could have handled the thing myself if you hadn't intervened," Riley spat, taking an aggressive step forward.

"Then give it another shot tomorrow," she offered in an attempt to defuse him.

"With you two?" he asked with uncertainty. "But, won't I slow you guys down?" Those words singed his mouth on their way out.

"Don't worry about it," Pyro dismissed. "We'll find something that's a nice balance for all of us here."

"But, I…" He stopped himself once again. He couldn't think of another reason to say no. Sure, there was the classic _I barely know you_ , but that applied to literally everyone else here. If anything, he knew them better than anyone else, save for maybe the guildmaster. And when you boil it down, he did find himself wanting to join them, if for no other reason than the companionship. Better to drink with strangers than to drink alone, as they say. "Oh, what the hell," he exclaimed, walking into the room.

" _That's_ the spirit," Pyro jested, pointing towards a pile of hay. "That'll be your bed. It was just set up a few hours ago, so it'll still be nice and plush."

"But, there's only two," Riley pointed out.

"He can't sleep on the hay," Rose said. "His tail's on fire."

"Then where _does_ he sleep?" he continued.

"On the floor," Pyro answered. His usual smile was gone, back on the shelf for when he'd need it again. "It's not actually as bad as you'd think, if you get used to it."

The Riolu nodded, if nothing but to confirm that he was listening, and walked further into the room. He placed down his satchel near his pile of hay and looked around a bit more. A small stack of books sat behind the other 'bed'. They were all roughly the same size save for a larger, thinner, brown leather-back book at the bottom. A small cluster of orbs, each a different hue from the one next to it, were pinned in between a few loose stones. Looking by the table, another checkerboard sat against the stone wall, and next to that a collection of wood-sculpted figures to some weird board game. Riley's eyes narrowed in on them, trying to see just what they did. Half of them seemed to be made of a bright birch, while the others' color made them appear like molded caramel. They were all of varying size and shape, ranging from posing Pokemon to odd variations of what appeared to be shields.

"What, you wanna play?" Pyro offered, sweeping the slivers off the surface of the table.

"Oh, no. I don't even know how," Riley dismissed.

"C'mon, it's not that hard," Pyro pushed, reaching for the board. "It's not like you have anything else to do, right?"

"Well… yeah, I guess you're right," the Riolu shrugged, walking over to the opposite end of the table. The Charmander began placing piece after piece on the board, setting them up before trying his best to explain the rules. They would play a total of two games and get halfway through a third before deciding to get to sleep. Pyro again put everything away and curled up on the ground. Rose would have already collapsed into her pile of hay, and Riley did the same soon after.

And there he would lay for some odd hours, unaware of just how long it had been. The swarm of thoughts in his mind had picked up activity again, pleading for answers he could not give them; pleading for answers from a blank memory. Who he was, what he did, what his family was like, if he even had a family to begin with… he was a human before this, wasn't he? With a whole life he had just left behind? Despite several mental protests for them to leave him alone, it wouldn't be until some time far past midnight that he would finally drift asleep, and brace for the next day.


	3. Chapter 3: The Don

The leaves crunched beneath the Sneasel's feet as she walked through the woods in the wee hours of the morning. The first hint of day dyed the eastern horizon through the trees, only serving to hasten her. She had a bag on her back and wore the pelt of a Pidgey as a cloak. The former was mostly empty, and the latter was loose around her, acting only to obscure her form as she searched frantically. A Murkrow dove down from above and landed beside the Dark-type, quickly adjusting his pace to match hers.

"Did you find it, yet?" the bird asked.

"No. This damn Razor Claw is impossible to find! I think we got faulty information, "he Sneasel grumbled.

"Day is coming. We should head back." The Murkrow looked up to the east, as the first rays of sunlight peeked over the distant hills.

The Sneasel sighed. "Yeah, I guess… I just hate coming back empty-handed again…" In irritation she clicked her tongue. Murkrow, taking the signal, stretched his wings and took flight. His companion grabbed him by the talons, and together the two took off. The Murkrow soared high into the sky, and Sneasel gazed down at the ground as they passed by forests of trees, gently flowing rivers, and open fields of light green grass. They flew past several small towns, with Pokemon going about their daily lives. Some of them looked at the Dark-types, but most of them paid no mind.

By the time the two of them landed, the sun was rising above the horizon. They landed in front of a large building with a wooden sign above the entrance. The sign was shaped like two eggs of complementing colors leaning against each other. The Sneasel entered the double doors to be greeted by a hoard of small Pokemon of variying types. Pichu, Mudkip, Bidoof, Zubat, Growlithe, just to name a few.

"Sneasel! You're back!"

"Welcome home!"

"Where did you go for so long?"

Sneasel smiled at the group of young Pokemon crowding around her. "I had to go look for something. But I brought Murkrow back with me to play with you all!" The children cheered with excitement.

"Wha- no, I don't have time to…" Murkrow was cut off as he was surrounded by children. Sneasel used that chance to sneak away and move further into the building. The building was comprised of a large room in the front, with sofas and tables. A sort of lobby. In the back of this lobby was a large staircase, and upstairs was several smaller rooms. To the right of the lobby was a cafeteria, and to the left was a bath house.

"Welcome back." greeted a Breloom sat on the first step of the staircase. "Did you find the Razor Claw?"

"No. We think it was faulty information," she grumbled, still somewhat bitter, but quickly changed the topic. "But have you seen Joker?"

"Yeah, he came by a while ago. Turns out he evolved before you, after all. You owe him 30 Poké now." Breloom smirked.

"Tsk. I'll pay him later. Did he say where he was going?" Sneasel asked.

"Nope. But you know him; he'll turn up eventually." Breloom pointed out.

"That's true. I'm going up to my office. Call me if anyone important shows up." Sneasel told him.

"Sure thing."

"That won't be necessary." A voice said from behind Sneasel, who whirled around to see an Espeon.

"Holy fucking shit, don't do that!" Sneasel panted, gripping her chest, "You nearly gave me a heart attack!"

"I take it from your appearance that you didn't find the Razor Claw?" the Espeon asked.

"No, I didn't. Your information is bullshit." Sneasel spat.

"Isn't it always?" the Espeon smirked. "But if I had known you'd only put half-assed effort into finding it, then return to your orphanage with your head hung low, I'd have made my instructions simpler. I overestimated your intelligence and skill level, and I'm sorry. It won't happen again."

"No need to be an asshole." Sneasel muttered.

"But anyway, I didn't come here to mock you... Well, I might've, but the main reason I came here is to tell you that Persian wants you to go report to him as soon as you can." Espeon reported.

"Persian? Why?" Sneasel asked.

"Listen, I relay the information. I don't read my client's mind. I'm not psychic... Oh, wait." He then snickered and raised his head up, summoning a flash of light. And as soon as the light came, it was gone, along with the Psychic-type Pokemon.

"That bastard… Well, guess I'd better go." Sneasel turned back to the Breloom on the staircase. "Breloom, would you like to come with me?"

"What? Me? But I've never been there before..." he said in surprise.

"Oh, you'll be fine. It'll be a great learning experience." Sneasel encouraged.

"I… I guess so, if you'll have me." Breloom shyly stood up.

"Alright, to Persian's place we go!" Sneasel cheered.

The Dark-type led her Breloom friend out of the building. The two of them began walking in the direction of a large mountain in the distance. It was like a spear jutting out of the ground, covered in thick forests of pine trees. The tall trees made the mountain seem even taller, as if it was stretching up to the sky. The dense forest hid the dangers of the mountain well, but all the Pokemon who lived nearby knew to steer clear of that mountain, anyway.

"I wonder what Persian wants with you." Breloom commented.

"Probably some task that his idiots couldn't handle." Sneasel shrugged. The two of them chatted about nothing important as they passed through the town. They talked about how the weather's been very clear lately. They talked about a fight that went down in the town square the other day. They talked about ideas for dinner. Some Pokemon stopped to greet them as they passed.

"Good morning, Sneasel." A young Oshawott smiled as he swept the patio of the inn.

"Good morning. How are you?" Sneasel stopped to talk to him.

"Great! My momma said if I sweep this whole yard, I can have a cookie!" the Oshawott enthused.

"Then I'd better not distract you." Sneasel laughed, then continued walking.

"Hello, Sneasel." A Zebstrika nodded to her from the bench she was sitting on. "Where are you off to so early?"

"Oh, just bringing the lad to see an old friend of mine." Sneasel responded. Breloom nodded a greeting.

"Hopin' he'll get adopted, eh? Good luck, then." Zebstrika smiled.

"Yes, good day." Sneasel continued on.

…

Once the two of them exited the town, they were met with a large forest. Just beyond the forest was the mountain that marked their destination. They continued walking through the forest, stopping only to drink from the streams that ran through.

Breloom could feel the wild Pokemon staring at him, but he knew if he stuck close to Sneasel, they wouldn't be able to do anything. No one in this forest was dumb enough to attack Sneasel.

"We're almost to the mountain," Sneasel told him. "Let's push on. I want to get there by noon."

"Alright." Breloom followed close behind her as Sneasel led the way to the mountain.

The mountain was tall and steep. It felt like a vertical climb as the two made their way up. Breloom felt even less safe here, because he knew the Pokemon at this mountain were capable of picking him off.

"Walk with confidence." Sneasel instructed. "If you show weakness, you'll be killed." Breloom nodded and tried to feign confidence. He straightened his back and held his head and tail high, but he still felt nervous about all the eyes watching him.

"Well, well." A Sandslash came out from the undergrowth, blocking Sneasel's path. "Look who we have here," it snickered. Immediately after lumbered a great Armaldo, sticking close to its companion.

"Looks like Sneas brought us a treat!" the Bug-type taunted.

"Go away. He's my subordinate." Sneasel spat.

"No need to be rude. He wasn't invited here, anyway," the Sandslash snickered. "What's the big deal, anyways? He's just a yearling. You could raise a better one in no time."

"Shut the hell up," Sneasel snarled. "Get out of here before I rip those spines you're so proud of right out of your back."

"I'd like to see you try." The Sandslash narrowed its eyes and waved its claws menacingly, showing it was ready for a fight. The Armaldo did the same, brandishing its own claws

Sneasel smirked and started the fight with Icy Wind, summoning the chilling breeze. Sandslash blocked chunks of hail with Slash, cutting through the ice with ease. Breloom charged forward and Headbutted the Sandslash, sending it flying across the clearing. Armaldo sprayed Breloom with Water Gun, but he shook it off and countered with Mega Drain.

Sneasel jumped on the still recovering Sandslash and viciously attacked it with Fury Swipes. Armaldo ran to help its comrade, but Breloom blocked its path and hit it with Force Palm. The Bug-type decided it was time to flee. It scrambled to its feet and ran off through the trees.

Sneasel attacked once more with Metal Claw, digging her steely claws into the Sandslash's chest and raking them all the way down to its stomach. She then stood up and let the creature flee into the safety of the trees, leaving a faint trail of blood behind it.

"Did you really have to go that far?" Breloom asked.

"Hey, I didn't kill them," Sneasel defended as she began walking again.

"You may as well have. You know that the pokemon here flock to the scent of blood. There's no way that Sandslash will survive," Breloom pointed out.

"Aw, lighten up. They started it, anyway. It was time you made a name for yourself here, and now you'll be able to travel without worry," Sneasel told him. Breloom was silent.

The two Pokemon walked about halfway up the mountain, then turned and began walking across it. It was quite a bit easier walking around the mountain than walking up it. Breloom noticed no other Pokemon challenged them as they travelled, although he could still feel their stares penetrating his back.

They reached a clearing where an old mansion sat. The walls were chipping, all the windows were broken, and one of the large double doors was missing, while the other one was broken and barely hanging onto the hinges. Breloom stopped to take in the atmosphere.

While the sounds of footsteps and the rustling of leaves could be heard throughout their entire journey here, the area around this mansion was strangely quiet. It was as if the Pokemon that weren't afraid to attack travellers in broad daylight didn't dare approach this dwelling. The eerie silence seemed to amplify the aura surrounding the mansion. Breloom was frozen to the ground.

"What are you doing? Let's go," Sneasel beckoned him from the entrance. Breloom hesitated a moment longer, then reluctantly followed the Dark-type in.

The inside of the mansion was no different than the outside. The paint on the walls was all but completely gone and the wooden floorboards were rotting. The staircases on either side of the large living room were missing some steps, and the rails were broken off, leaving wooden stumps on each step. Long ago there had been a grand chandelier hanging from the ceiling, but today there was a single chain dangling down. Rays of light were washing in from various holes, and there were several marks from fights on the walls, accompanied by copper-colored stains of dried blood.

Sneasel walked toward the staircase on the left in a calm manner, but Breloom couldn't stop trembling. The floorboards seemed like they would give way at any moment, and they betrayed every footstep he took, squealing and crying from the slightest weight. Sneasel stopped and waited for Breloom at the bottom of the stairs. Breloom gingerly made his way towards her.

"Don't step on the third or fifth step," Sneasel instructed. "The rest are fine," She then began climbing up the stairs. Breloom cautiously followed her, skipping over the steps she indicated.

When they reached the top of the stairs, they were greeted by an Arcanine. He towered proudly over them like a great deity. He didn't have a single scar on his muscular body, but Breloom could tell that he was battle-hardened. The Arcanine's gaze pierced through Breloom's soul and all he could do was look on in awe.

"Who's this?" the Fire-type nodded to Breloom.

"My escort. He comes from the orphanage," Sneasel answered confidently. Breloom nodded a greeting.

"If he's one of your brats, then I suppose it can't be helped. But he stays out here," Arcanine instructed.

"Yes, sir," Sneasel said in a mock militaristic tone. She then turned to Breloom. "You heard him. Stay here. I'll be right back," Sneasel proceeded into the master bedroom, where Persian was waiting. The Classy Cat Pokemon was lying on the king sized bed with a bored, decidant air to him. He looked down on Sneasel as she entered with something that wasn't quite indifference and wasn't quite disgust.

"Well, I'm glad you took your merry time getting here," he sniffed, "did you stop and have a picnic on the way or something?"

"Terribly sorry. I was attacked by a couple of residents of your forest," Sneasel explained.

"Hmph. Well, anyway, I've got a job for you and Murkrow. A certain Empoleon has an awful lot of Poké and doesn't want to share. Do you think you two could… Change his mind?" Persian grinned. Sneasel could tell from the look in his eyes that he was planning something. It seemed to her that he always was.

"Sure," she nodded.

That was it. The order was simple, and after giving her a location, Sneasel left without another word, without even needing another word. Motionlessly Persian watched her leave, and remained that way for a short while until Arcanine came in after them.

"She left with her companion," the dog told him. There was a moment of silence between the two before he continued. "Are you sure she's right for this job?"

"Of course," Persian purred. "That girl never asks questions, and always obediently follows orders. She's the only one I could trust for this."

"If you say so," Arcanine responded, shaking his head and turning back to his post.

…

Sneasel looked at Breloom, who seemed more than happy to leave that mansion.

"That place is scary," Breloom commented.

"Heh. Get used to it, because as you get older and stronger, you're gonna have to go there a lot," Sneasel smirked.

"So, what did he want?" Breloom asked.

"He just wanted me to rough up some noblemon, but I feel like there's more to this than that," Sneasel explained.

"Why do you think that?" Breloom tipped his head.

"If it was that simple, he wouldn't have called for me. And even if he did, he'd have had Espie tell me. But he wanted to talk face-to-face, so there has to be some hidden meaning," Sneasel told him.

"I see… That seems rather complicated," Breloom sighed.

Sneasel grinned. "You might be a bit too young for such conspiracies… But either way, I can't wait for this next job," she said, enthused.

…

"I thought you said this mission was going to be easy," Murkrow commented.

"It is, it is. We just need to rethink our strategy," Sneasel responded.

The two of them were sitting with their backs against a thick oak tree. They had accidentally entered a Mystery Dungeon on the way to their target's location. Forest surrounded them on all sides, so tightly packed that they couldn't see what lies beyond them. In some areas, the trees parted to create pathways and clearings, and the tree branches created a canopy over these paths, blocking out most of the sunlight, which gave the dungeon its name, Tunnelling Forest.

"We've been flung every which way by every kind of trap imaginable, and there's still no sign of the exit," Murkrow complained.

"Aw, it's not so bad," Sneasel laughed. "Once we're done, I'll treat you to a meal."

"I'll hold you to that," Murkrow grumbled as he stood up. Sneasel followed Murkrow through the trees as the two of them made their way through the Dungeon.

"Luckily for us, this seems to be a low-level Mystery Dungeon," Sneasel commented as she watched Murkrow brush aside a Raticate with Wing Attack.

"Even so, this seems like a pretty inefficient shortcut to me," Murkrow responded.

"Hey, I originally wanted to go across the mountain, but _nooo,_ you wanted me to find a quicker way," Sneasel pointed out. "Well, this is it, pal." She made a large sweeping motion with her arms, gesturing to the trees around her.

"Ugh, what a pain," Murkrow sighed. "At this rate, it'll be dark once we get to that stupid penguin's place."

"It wouldn't have taken this long if we went across the mountain." Sneasel muttered.

Murkrow simply rolled his eyes as he continued walking through the tunnel of trees. Pokemon after Pokemon came charging at him, and each one was knocked away. Occasionally, they died from his hit, but usually they just fled.

The two of them made it to the next staircase, but suddenly, a click sounded from under Murkrow's foot. "That can't be good…" The bird murmured as a tile was revealed below him. It glowed with mysterious properties, and without warning, Murkrow was whisked away.

The rays of light shining down from the staircase told Sneasel that the exit was just ahead. "Goddamn it." she muttered to herself as she turned and headed towards one of the pathways. "These traps can go rot in Hell! I'm sick of all this bullshit!" She stormed through the trees, screaming curses at the canopy overhead.

It wasn't long before Murkrow found his way back to Sneasel, what with her being heard throughout the whole floor. However, their reunion did nothing to lighten Sneasel's mood.

"Next time, we're going my way," she snapped.

By the time the two of them made their way back to the staircase, orange light from the evening sky was filtering through the trees. The Dungeon opened up to a large field, with the beginning of the Sawtooth Mountain range off in the distance.

"Well, there goes our day," Murkrow sighed.

"It's fine. It's better if it's dark out, anyway," Sneasel pointed out.

"At least we're finally out," Murkrow yawned. "I've never missed the sky so much!" He outstretched his wings and tipped his head back.

"It's not time to feel relieved just yet," Sneasel told him, "'cause we've still got a job to do."

…

On top of a hill overlooking a meadow, there sat a small manor. A large gate surrounded the entire area, proving that this meadow was private property. An Empoleon gazed out the window of his wondrous home, filled with high-class furniture. He was completely unaware of the danger lurking nearby.

"So, what, are we just gonna walk right up and mug him?" Murkrow asked from the bushes he was hiding behind.

"Of course not. That would be stupid," Sneasel responded from her spot next to him, "We're gonna kick the door down first."

"What?" Murkrow darted his head to her, but Sneasel was already running towards the manor. She did a running leap and grabbed on to the gate, hurled herself over it, rolled a few times, then charged for the door. Murkrow had no choice but to follow behind.

"Will you wait up?" he called frustrated as he rushed behind her.

With an explosion of wood chips and debris, the door was broken down by Sneasel's Metal Claw. The Empoleon jumped up from his lounge chair in surprise.

"Wh-who are you?!" the Water-type exclaimed.

"We've come in place of Persian to collect what you owe!" Sneasel declared.

"How did you find me?" Empoleon asked.

"Doesn't matter," Murkrow spat.

"L-listen here…" Empoleon raised his wings in a defensive position, "I told you Pokemon time and again that I _don't have_ what you're looking for. You've got the wrong guy!"

"We don't care about that! Put everything here, or we'll have you pay with your life." Sneasel gestured to the area in front of her.

"I _can't._ Even if I had it, I… I…" Empoleon was trembling.

"Looks like he'd rather die than pay his debts. The greedy bastard," Murkrow scowled.

"Let's beat 'im up, then," Sneasel grinned and took a step towards the Empoleon.

The Water-type knew he couldn't get out of this. He had to fight. He opened his beak and let forth a strong Bubble Beam, which was easily sidestepped. Empoleon took a step back, but Murkrow had flown behind him and was preventing him from fleeing with Mean Look.

Sneasel lunged forward to attack, but Empoleon shifted to dodge. She doubled back and attacked again, landing her Feint Attack directly on the penguin's stomach. Murkrow came down from above, and when Empoleon ducked, he folded his wings and dropped down, landing another Feint Attack to the back of the head.

Sneasel summoned an Icy Wind, and the recovering Empoleon was buffeted by the hail it brought. The Water-type tried to attack Sneasel with Metal Claw, but Murkrow knocked him off balance with Wing Attack. Pivoting around, Empoleon shot a Bubble Beam at Murkrow, but left his back completely vulnerable to Sneasel's Fury Swipes. The two Dark-types tag-teamed their enemy until he collapsed onto the ground, beaten bloody.

"Whew, that was a bit of a workout," Sneasel commented as she stood over the Empoleon.

"I'll start gathering the Poké from his box," Murkrow decided, "Should I also gather up valuable items?"

Sneasel thought for a moment, then decided, "Sure, but we'll pocket the money we get from selling that. Persian doesn't need to know." Murkrow nodded and began searching the house. Sneasel also began gathering up small items that seemed expensive.

The two of them packed their bags full of jewelry and candlesticks, along with other gold-colored trinkets they found.

"This time, let's try not to go through a Mystery Dungeon," Murkrow commented.

"Sure, we can always go across the mountain," Sneasel suggested. Murkrow groaned. The two Dark-types began walking in silence.

"Do you think anyone will notice the door?" Murkrow asked once the manor's gates were out of sight.

"Nah, I'm sure the clean-up crew will handle it," Sneasel responded.

"I bet they get tired of cleaning up your messes," Murkrow laughed.

"It's their _job_ to keep our work out of the papers. I bet they're happy to keep busy." Sneasel pointed out. "But it's a shame you can't fly us back," She added.

"You know I can't do long distances, I get airsick," Murkrow reminded her.

"How does a bird get airsick, anyway?" Sneasel asked.

"It's because of the altitude change," Murkrow muttered. "Plus, even if I could, this loot is far too heavy to carry along with you."

"Are you calling me fat?" Sneasel asked with mock offense in her tone.

"Whatever do you mean?" Murkrow grinned, "I didn't call you anything."

"If anyone's fat here, it's you." Sneasel teased.

"Hey, I'm not fat!" Murkrow protested.

"I bet you just _say_ you get airsick, when really you just can't carry your fat ass long distances," Sneasel grinned.

"Rude," Murkrow snubbed her. Sneasel snickered.

"But anyway," Sneasel's tone was serious again, "What do you think of today's mission?"

Murkrow looked at her, "It was obviously not a regular shake-down. The guy owed Persian something a lot more valuable than Poké."

Sneasel nodded, "He kept saying he doesn't have what we want… Do you think it's drugs? Or maybe it's some kind of treasure?"

"I couldn't say," Murkrow shook his head gently, "But Persian's definitely hiding something from us."

"Isn't he always?" Sneasel laughed, "That cat never reveals his whole hand."

"Then we'd better start having some tricks hidden, as well," Murkrow suggested.

"Yes, I'm already working on that." Sneasel replied with a nod.

…

The sky was pitch black by the time Sneasel and Murkrow returned to Hazel Town, where the orphanage resided. All the children were already tucked away in their beds, save for a few.

In the lobby, a small number of the orphans were gathered. A Pichu sat in one of the plush chairs, next to a Leafeon. Breloom leaned against the wall, next to a Spearow. All four of the young Pokemon looked up as the two Dark-types came in.

"You said it wouldn't take that long," the Pichu stood up on the chair.

"We've been on standby for hours," the Spearow added, "If we knew this was gonna be an all day activity, we'd have gotten other stuff done while you were away."

"Yeah, sorry," Sneasel rubbed the back of her head, "Something came up, so it took longer than expected."

"What, did you go through Tunnelling Forest or something?" Breloom smirked. Sneasel and Murkrow were both silent.

"What, really?" Leafeon laughed, "No wonder it took forever!

"Yeah, yeah, I'm an idiot," Murkrow sighed, "Now let's start the monthly reports so you can all go back to bed."

"I think it's been business as usual this month," Breloom explained as he stood up straight. "We've been taking jobs that we feel we can handle, and have been practicing solo missions in the easier ones."

"That's good," Sneasel praised, "just try not to overdo it."

"And, and," Pichu jumped in enthusiastically, "Treecko is getting stronger, so I think we should let him join!"

Sneasel thought for a moment, "Treecko, huh? He seems like he'd be a strong ally. I'll leave Leafeon in charge of his recruitment and training." Leafeon nodded.

"One more thing," Spearow began, "Sableye came by a few hours ago while you were away. He told me to tell you that he's got a deal to offer you."

Sneasel nodded, "We'll go over to his place soon, then. Is that all?" the children all nodded, "Alright. Now we've got something to tell _you_."

"On our mission today," Murkrow explained, "the target seemed to be hiding something. We think our boss is keeping secrets again."

"So, we also need some tricks up our sleeves," Sneasel continued, "So I'm going to recruit some more children, and I'd like you to do the same, as well as picking out the older and stronger of the orphans and training them."

"Wait, recruit more children?" Leafeon interrupted, "How?"

"Orphan them, of course. Burn their house down and save them from the flames while their parents perish," Sneasel suggested, "anyway, aside from Leafeon, you each need to pick out one child and train them to be at least level 20. Your deadline is... Let's see... The deadline will be three weeks from now. That should be enough time, right?" She looked over at Murkrow, who nodded.

"Alright," Sneasel clapped her hands together. "You're all dismissed. Run up to bed."


	4. Chapter 4: Joy Seeds

Sneasel entered the old mansion confidently, followed by Murkrow, nervously. The two treaded carefully over the rotted floorboards and made their way to the staircase. Murkrow didn't want to risk falling through the steps, so he lazily flew over while Sneasel skillfully skipped over the steps that creaked or felt too weak for her weight. The two of them soon reached the top, and Sneasel opened the decaying double doors that led to the master bedroom and entered, with Murkrow right behind her. The cat was laying upon the bed, as usual, with a disinterested air about him.

"Persian!" she called. "I came to report the mission with Empoleon!"

But the Normal-type was not alone. By the bedpost stood a tall, gaunt Bisharp wearing only a black leather bag by his left hip. He was an old, worn thing, for his species anyways, staring back at the Ice-type with his piercing blue eyes - blue, like the sky just before dawn. He scowled at the sight of her, recoiling his lips to reveal several teeth coated in rust.

"Bisharp," Sneasel greeted him bitterly but warily. "Long time no see."

"Not long enough," Bisharp groaned, disgusted. His voice was as cold and sharp as the razor edges of his steel. Every word he would utter would be wrapped in a personal vendetta, and he would speak each one in the same tone: barely tamed excitement. Those with the rare opportunity to chat with him during a meal would hear the same tone that the Steel-type would grant to those that he would lay beside as he watched the final moments of some poor bastard's life vanish into thin air. Sweet yet terrible, like a madman's lullaby.

"You wanna fight?!" Sneasel snarled. Murkrow stopped her from attacking by blocking her path with his wings.

"So long as you step off my turf, not really." He rolled his eyes and turned back to Persian. "I'd appreciate it if you'd quit giving my work to the Renaissance Division. It's the Assassination Division's job to kill. We don't need these _children_ doing my work for me."

"That's ridiculous!" Sneasel protested, "If my kids don't learn how to kill Pokemon, then they won't be able to transfer to the Assassination Division and you'll run out of subordinates!"

"That's fine by me," Bisharp retorted. "I don't need a bunch of toddlers to help. I'm all we'd need."

"Oh, I doubt that!" Sneasel spat.

"Care for a demonstration?" Bisharp offered, raising his left hand towards his face and outstretching his fingers, brandishing the sharp edges as he menacingly meandered forward with an excited grin. His pinky was gone, replaced by a prosthetic pike of a finger with a joint installed halfway down. Sneasel raised her claws in a defensive position and moved forwards. "I wonder which would empty first: your veins or your confidence?"

"Now, now, let's calm down," Murkrow frantically tried to soothe them.

"Unless you want to see your intestines spill out like cooked pasta from a bag, I'd suggest keeping your fat beak shut," Bisharp snapped.

"Listen," Persian growled. The Dark-types froze. "I don't particularly care if you duke it out, but I just had the floor cleaned in here. And we all know that this building can't take many more skirmishes, so unless you wanna get thrown out the window, I suggest you stop."

For a moment, no one moved. Annoyed, Bisharp clicked his tongue and straightened his back. "And here I thought I'd be able to quench my boredom," he sighed.

"Where you going, coward?!" Sneasel hissed.

"Anywhere away from you," Bisharp spat as he turned towards the doorway. "If the big kitty isn't going to help, then my job's done here. Besides, I got myself worked up, and since you're off the market…" His lips curled into an almost lustful grin as his fingers twitched and spasmed about. The prosthetic squeaked as the joint passed against a rusted patch of metal. "Someone else will have to satisfy me," he snickered, steel-clad feet leaving more scratches in the worn wood as he left.

All three of the remaining Pokemon thought at once, _I'd hate to be one of the poor guards in the forest right now._

Immediately when his footsteps disappeared, Sneasel breathed a heavy sigh, holding her claw over her pounding heart. "I thought I was gonna die!" she wheezed.

"You still will if you don't tell me why the fuck you're here, already," Persian growled.

"Oh. Right." She shook her head and did her best to pretend Bisharp was never there. "I came to report the missions results."

"Oh, about Empoleon? Go on," Persian prompted.

"Well, he didn't seem to be expecting debt collectors, and kept saying he 'didn't have what we were looking for'," Sneasel informed, "We ended up having to kill him, and we gathered up all his Poké."

"We're going to send it to Sableye for safekeeping, unless you want it delivered somewhere else?" Murkrow asked.

"No, Sableye's place is fine," Persian responded, "But did Empoleon mention anything about any kind of secret stash or safebox?"

"No, nothing." Sneasel put on a facade of a confused look.

"I see… Alright, you're dismissed," Persian flicked his tail, as though he was irritated by their presence. Sneasel and Murkrow nodded and quickly left the building.

"So what do you think?" Murkrow asked as the two made the trek back to the orphanage.

"There's definitely more to that mission than Persian tells us. If I had to guess, I'd say Empoleon was buying Joy Seeds off us," Sneasel answered.

"Joy Seeds? He didn't look like the type to take that…" Murkrow commented.

"No, he did, if you looked closely enough," Sneasel responded, "Remember, his feathers were unusually soft, and he didn't have the usual adult disposition? That's probably because he grew unnaturally fast."

"I see… So, he couldn't repay his debt, Persian wanted his seeds back, and Empoleon already used them, right?"

"Exactly," Sneasel responded.

...

The two of them soon arrived back at Hazel Town. The sun was high in the sky as they entered the orphanage.

"I'm home!" Sneasel called out.

A young Treecko ran out from the cafeteria and greeted the two, "Sneas! Guess what?" he prompted excitedly.

"I dunno, what?" Sneasel asked, matching the child's enthusiasm.

"Leafeon's been teaching me how to fight!" Treecko exclaimed.

"Really?! That's amazing! I bet you're already super strong!" Sneasel enthused.

"Uh-huh! Wanna see?" Treecko asked.

"I'd love to, but I have to do stuff. I gotta bring supplies to Sableye's place," Sneasel told him sadly. Treecko's excited smile faded.

"Oh, is that so…?" he asked.

"Sorry, bud. Later, alright?" Sneasel patted him on the shoulder and made her way to the office. Inside the small room, there was a large bag of Poké sitting on a desk.

"Want me to carry that for you?" Breloom entered the room behind Sneasel.

"What's this? You've never been this helpful before" Sneasel commented.

"Well… I can tell I don't have much time here left. Soon, you'll send me away to one of the adult divisions, where I'll start from the bottom tier all over again, working my way through the ranks," Breloom admitted, "And now I can see that's why you make the younger and weaker kids listen to the elites. At first, I just thought it was some stupid orphanage hierarchy, but you've been preparing us for the criminal life this whole time, haven't you?"

Sneasel was silent, refusing to look at the Grass-type.

"And when you said earlier for us to orphan children, it makes me think," Breloom continued, "You were the first one I saw when I hatched. You told me I was abandoned as an egg. But did you actually-"

"Enough," Sneasel finally turned to look at Breloom. Her icy stare made Breloom freeze in his place, "I don't have enough beds here as it is. If you have a problem with how I run things or don't trust my words, feel free to leave. There is nothing forcing you to stay here."

Breloom was silent for a moment, then sighed, "No. If I can't trust you, I can't trust anyone. I'll remain your subordinate for as long as you want me to, and I'll leave to work under whoever you think is best for me," he told her.

"Great." Sneasel smiled an uneasy smile. "Then, it'd actually be great if you could help me take all this to Sableye."

Breloom helped separate the Poké into two bags and hauled one over his shoulder. Sneasel led him into the main room and outside. As Breloom followed Sneasel, they walked past an Arbok and a Primeape that were loitering outside the orphanage. There were always some Pokemon hanging around outside, it seemed. Breloom hadn't thought much about it before, but now he caught Sneasel make eye contact with the two, and there was a sort of recognition in her eyes as she nodded to them slightly. They nodded back.

Sneasel's words echoed in Breloom's mind, " _There is nothing forcing you to stay here."_ Breloom now knew better than to believe that.

…

Sneasel led Breloom to the neighboring town, Churchwell Village. It wasn't very far of a walk, but the two had to cross a river, which proved difficult with so much weight. The village was small, with the largest building was at the eastern end; a big stone building with a large wooden construct of a gem on the front. It was a storage facility of sorts.

Breloom followed Sneasel through the streets and into the building. The inside was covered wall to wall with shelves, on which sat items of all kinds; bags of berries, scarves and cuffs, stones that glimmered in the light. Breloom gaped in awe at the assortment.

"What is this place?" he asked.

"Oh, you've never been here, huh?" Sneasel smirked. "This is Sableye's Storage. Pokemon come here to store goods that they don't need to take with them everywhere. He has a whole chain of branches," she explained. "Ironically, his company is the most used by Guild members."

"So you finally showed up, Sneasel," a Sableye appeared from behind a shelf.

"Yeah, I have Poké from my last raid to give you," Sneasel told him. "And I hear you have a job for me?"

"Yes, put the money over there and I'll fill you in," Sableye gestured with his hand to a large box in the corner. Sneasel and Breloom placed the bags of Poké inside.

"So, a caravan will pass through this town on its way to Knowall Town in order to take part in the bazaar that is held there," Sableye explained, "On that caravan is a box full of Joy Seeds that I have set my eyes on. Lead by a Sandslash."

"So, you want us to jump in, raid the caravan, and give you the seeds?" Sneasel asked.

"In a nutshell, yes. But I'd appreciate it if you didn't cause a scene. This caravan has ties to a guild, so if you were to be identified as a mobster, things would get complicated," Sableye warned.

"No problem! I'll be so discreet, no one will even know I'm there!"


	5. Chapter 5: His Mission

It was upon the hill where the process began. The great mountain of a hill, cleaved in half by some godly power, where the entrance to the guild stood. It was a mere ladder in a hole in the ground, sheltered in what looked like nothing but a small cabin. Made from fallen logs, only a few windows and one door, one big room with only a counter separating the living spaces from a kitchen, an outhouse out back, nothing about it seemed all that noteworthy. That is, save for a sign above the entrance where they had "Gallade's Guild" written in crude black letters on a blank of wood hanging from two tiny chains.

The sky to the east was beginning its transformation from night to early morning. It was caught in limbo between the murky depths of the deep ocean trench and the innocently childish blue of a robin's egg, and the stars were gradually beginning to fade away into the depths of space as the blanket of day shrouded them.

Watching with his usual melancholy, there stood a Rhyperior upon the hillside with his tired eyes set upon the faint glow on the horizon. The stones along his body were cracked and loose, his skin rough and jagged. The mace on the end of his tail had a bite taken out of it as if it were an apple. The Rock-type was completely, unnaturally still that day as he stood there, as he did nearly every day when witnessing the birth of a new dawn. The gentle winds didn't budge him. His bored stare didn't falter. He just stood there, frozen, and awaited the sun's rays to thaw him.

After some amount of time had passed, the golden crest peaked between the hills, and the land was illuminated in the early morning's weak but pleasant light. A bit of wonder and life glimmered in the Rhyperior's eyes as they swept over the landscape, through the hills and past the forests and into the light of the sun. From here, it almost seemed… _obtainable_ , as if he could just walk up and bottle it up like a firefly.

But he didn't have time to stare anymore. Dawn was upon them. The day had begun. With a reluctant sigh, Rhyperior turned back to the cabin and walked onto the porch. Opening the door, he ducked underneath and walked in further. Two other Pokemon sat inside; a Dusknoir working in the kitchen, and a Blaziken lying asleep in a bed at the other end of the house.

"Morning," Dusknoir greeted, waving his tired wave.

"Mornin'," Rhyperior greeted back, mostly out of obligation.

"Coffee?" the Ghost-type offered, raising a tin pot towards him.

"I'm good, thanks," Rhyperior insisted. "Save it for her. She needs it."

"What, dawn already?" Dusknoir tilted his head. "I thought we still had another ten minutes."

"It's getting earlier every day," Rhyperior shrugged. "Sorry to cut this short, but ol' Gallade needs me downstairs."

"Not a problem." The mouth on Dusknoir's rotund stomach cracked a warm smile as he gestured to an unfurnished corner of the cabin, across from the single bed. Rhyperior nodded a thank you and made his way over. He then leaned over and gently picked up a series of floorboards to reveal a large hole with a ladder leading down to the bottom floor. Climbing all the way down brought him to the main hexagonal guild hall, where Gallade stood in the very center with his arms folded.

"Heard me upstairs, huh?" Rhyperior surmised, only giving the guildmaster a glance as he made his way over to the dorms.

"Yyyup," Gallade answered. He flung his hand out, throwing a few heavy but small brass bells to the Rock-type. Rhyperior caught them in one hand and let them roll into the hole in his palm. "You know what to do." The Drill Pokemon nodded and walked over to the fifth tunnel. He took a deep breath.

"TWO MINUTES!" the Rock-type bellowed, contracting his muscles in his arm and firing a bell down the path. The heavy bit of metal inside the sturdy shell sounded with a resounding, unceasing ring. A chorus of moans and groans emerged from the dorms as Pokemon began to awake. He walked a little bit to the left, and shot it again down the fourth hall. "UP N' AT 'EM, YOU'RE BURNIN' DAYLIGHT." Down to the third, he fired yet another bell that continuously rang and jittered about on the floor.

It stopped just around room 317, reverberating throughout the whole tunnel with a resonating gong. The Charmander rolled over on the ground and stretched his muscles out, groaning faintly. He turned his head slightly to see the Roselia standing up from her 'bed' as she rubbed the sleep out of her eyes.

"I hate that stupid bell sometimes," she grumbled, reaching for her satchel and draping it over her. "It's like getting a Loudred for an alarm."

Pyro turned his gaze to the other bed, holding a Riolu with his head stuck in the pile of hay in a futile attempt to muffle the Rhyperior outside. He sighed, shaking his head as he stood up. "C'mon, out of bed," he pushed.

Riley groaned, digging himself in further. "Tired," came his muffled voice. "I'm trying to do a sleep."

"You had all the time for that last night," Rose objected with an annoyed tone in her voice.

"Five more minutes," begged Riley.

"Hell no," the Grass-type shot. "There's no such thing as 'just five more minutes'. Either you walk out of here on your own, or you'll be dragged out kicking and screaming." Again, the Riolu replied with a mere groan, shifting slightly in his hay. There was no intention to budge.

"It seems he made his choice," observed a voice from the doorway. The Charmander and Roselia turned their gazes to find Kirlia standing there. His red eyes settled upon the half-asleep Riolu, unceasing and unfaltering. "You two, go ahead to the guildmaster. I'll bring him out," he ordered.

"What are you doing?" Pyro asked with a blazing intensity.

"Oh, nothing," he reassured. "Just gonna tell him a bit about how things are done around here."

"That better be all," Rose warned, turning around to walk away.

"Or what? You'll sprinkle me with flower petals?" Kirlia teased.

Rose spun around with her brow furrowed and her mouth agape, but the thunderous roar of Rhyperior cut her off. _ONE MINUTE!_ She bit her lip in frustration, her tiny body trembling with rage. "You…!" Rose growled. She paused for a moment, staring a hole into Kirlia's amused smirk, and then spun around with an annoyed bark. "You got lucky, this time," she called behind her as she stormed off. The Charmander shot a glare at the Psychic-type, giving him a non verbal death threat, and then hurried after his partner.

Kirlia shook his head as he chuckled to himself, stepping further into the room. "They're so easy," he muttered. "Now…" He raised his right arm, adorned in a blue cuff, forward, gripping the Riolu's left leg in a Psychic and dragging him out from the hay. A tired but panicked slur rushed out of his mouth as Riley's entire body was flipped around, forcing his back against the cold ground.

"Christ, I'm awake!" Riley snapped.

"Who are you?" Kirlia ordered.

"Wha-"

"Don't make me repeat myself," he pressed.

"Uh, Riley," the Riolu answered. "I signed up yesterday… Didn't you remember any of this from yesterday morning? That _was_ you, right?"

"That's not what I mean, you jackass," Kirlia hissed through his teeth.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Here I thought that you asking 'who I am' meant telling them who I am," he retorted.

"The scarf," Kirlia continued, pointing to the red fabric around the Riolu's neck. "How did you get that?"

"What, this?" He held the scarf between his fingers for a moment. "Gallade just gave it to me last night when I joined."

"Don't give me that," the Psychic-type spat.

"Look, it's the truth. Go ask him yourself," Riley challenged.

Kirlia opened his mouth to speak, but again the voice of Rhyperior interjected with a quaking _TEN SECONDS!_ shaking the hollowed tunnels. He growled lowly, jerking Riley to his feet with another Psychic. "Just keep that thing safe," he demanded, putting his hand on the Riolu's shoulder. "If I find out that anything happened to that…"

"You'll kick my ass, right?" Riley surmised.

"You're smarter than you look." And with that, in a near instantaneous golden blur, they had warped to the edge of the center room. _Teleport_ , Riley assumed. He turned around slowly to get a look at the rest of the room. Well over a hundred other Pokemon were gathered there under the soft white glow of a few odd plates in the ceiling. So many different species and types were spread about that in those short few seconds he couldn't immediately see the same Pokemon twice. And they all stood in absolute silence, until one of them spoke from the very center of the room.

"Just in time," announced Gallade. He was still in the same position as he was before, arms folded as if waiting for a heroic wind. By his side, Rhyperior towered over him with his watchful gaze sweeping the exactly 174 Pokemon gathered.

"Sorry I was almost late," Kirlia bowed. "I noticed we had a new recruit, and he seemed to be having some trouble." Riley kept his mouth shut, both because he didn't have anything to gain from doing otherwise, and he felt the persuading aura emanating from the Psychic-type that managed to convince him into silence. He was smarter than he looked, after all.

"Nothing to apologize over," Gallade dismissed, waving the matter away. "I'm glad nearly everyone is here this morning, save for a few veteran teams still out on a mission. A few reports came in yesterday, noting the discovery of two new dungeons, dubbed Starry Abyss and Misted Forest. Details can be found near the boards." He paused for but a moment and took a bit of a breath.

"Some of the older members were away when I first explained the developments, so I'm gonna start from the beginning," he began. "There's a settlement owned by the Implentur called Lake Purity. It's long been known to have healing properties to it that rapidly speed up the body's regeneration. And with a few extra ingredients, professionals have been able to make cures to several diseases out there. That is, until recently, a dormant volcano erupted. Tons of ash have gone into the lake and raised the water level over a hundred feet. The lakeside town was partially submerged. Over a thousand Pokemon have perished." Gallade took a somber pause. His left eye lowered to the floor, and stayed there when he continued. "According to the report, Implentur disowned the settlement, now that its only asset was useless. They're trying to take everything the town has and flee. The survivors, of course, are trying to fight to keep what's theirs. There's more to it that you can read, posted up by the boards. But, the settlement has declared its independence, and rebranded itself under the new name of Ashen Lake. And due to this, for the first time in forty-three years, there's a war within our shores."

A shocked murmur swam through the crowd. Groups of Pokemon turned towards each other and began frantically discussing just above a whisper. With a grunt Rhyperior stamped his foot into the ground, and a rumbling quake shook the guild members to silence.

"I can't say I'm surprised to hear this news, all things considered," Gallade went on. "But, we don't want to get ourselves involved in the area. Not only will it be extremely dangerous, but it could be taken as a political act if we were to pick a side and fight with them. The map by the boards, going back to those again, has certain areas greyed out. If your jobs today would bring you through there, put them off until a later date. Are we clear?"

A resounding, collecting " _Yessir!"_ answered him.

"Good." Gallade put on a comforting smile. "Now, get to work!" The crowd parted with his words, and a deafening chatter flooded the room. Nearly everyone was crowding around the ladder as they trickled up one by one. Riley turned around towards Kirlia, merely to see where he would be heading. But the place he once stood was now empty. He turned around again, wondering if the Psychic-type had walked past him, though he wasn't there either. _Another Teleport_ , he assumed, staring at the traffic gathered around the ladder. _Can't say I blame him_.

"It's not normally like this, I swear," vowed a voice to his left. He didn't even have to turn to know that it was, again, Pyro.

"What's an 'Implentur'?" Riley asked, putting on a puzzled expression.

"Some area around the deserts to the East," the Charmander answered. "They've been in the news a lot for as long as I can remember, but this…"

"What, war? It can't be that rare, can it?" Riley tilted his head as he tried to think this through. Certain species would fight with others, according to their own lore. Add in variables like prejudice, and with so many sentient beings on this planet, wars shouldn't be too hard to come by. And considering the mythical scale this world was on...

"The last one was over forty years ago, from what I've been told," Pyro explained. "There's a library in the neighboring town to the west if you want to know more. They've got a lot there, from what I've heard."

"Duly noted," he stated. "So, what's today's mission?"

"Changing the subject. Alrighty then," Pyro shrugged, a little disappointed, but not enough to throw a fit over it. "Rose just went upstairs to pick from the boards, so we just have to wait."

"She better pick something fun," Riley said, a faint smile beginning to spread.

"I wouldn't get your hopes up," Pyro warned. "Remember, she's picking a job based on _your_ level."

"What, you don't think we could take down a bounty?" Riley huffed.

"No, I don't think _you_ could take down a bounty," Pyro defended. "If we pick the wrong guy, I shouldn't have to explain what could happen."

"Just because it could happen doesn't mean we should be afraid of it," Riley countered.

"This isn't debatable. Right now, you're at the bottom. Jobs like that are a few steps above you." The Charmander's soft blue eyes stared into Riley's as they tried to beam some sense into him.

"How long will it take to climb those steps?" Riley asked.

"Maybe… a week or so?" the Charmander guessed.

"Aww," Riley whined.

"I got one," Rose called. The two turned towards her to see the small Grass-type approaching from the base of the ladder with a scrap of paper in her petals.

"What did you pick?" Pyro asked. The Riolu listened with anticipation.

"Caravan guarding," she answered. "Figured it would be a good pick for his first day. It ranked low, and seems like an easy job."

"'Caravan'?" Riley repeated with an eager smile.

"Yyyup," Rose replied. "It's a basic, cushy job. Just help fight off wild Pokemon if they get in the way."

"... That's it?" The Fighting-type asked.

"I'm sorry, the _raids_ were all taken." She rolled her eyes and continued. "It goes from Churchwell Village to Knowall Town, so we should be done by some time tonight."

"Churchwell?" Pyro repeated. "It's a bit far, isn't it?"

"There's an express travel that'll bring us there in about five hours, give or take," she answered. "But that'll leave pretty soon, so we should get going. Leaving now would only give us about twenty minutes to spare."

"Who's _starting_ a caravan out in Churchwell?" Pyro asked.

"It doesn't say why, but the request is by…" She glanced down at the scrap of paper again. "By a Sandslash. Huh."

"A Sandslash up near Churchwell," the Charmander said to himself. "Can't wait to hear the story on that one."

"Then let's hurry up and go," Rose pushed. "We need to get to the express travel before they're all taken."

"Yes ma'am," the two said simultaneously as they began to follow the Grass-type outside.

…

They arrived a half hour before noon riding on the back of an Arcanine the whole way there. Straps and belts held the three small Pokemon in place as the mighty Fire-type gracefully leapt over the hills and charged through the valleys. Grass and trees rushed by in a vibrant blur, and all they could accurately see were the distant lakes and mountains between gaps in the quickly passing landscape.

And the lush greenery kept up with them all the way to the town of Churchwell Village. Long ago it would have been a simple, charming Shire-esque place with a tightly-knit community and an atmosphere so relaxing that one could just drift away on any hillside and just watch the clouds shift and change against the beautifully blue sky. Though years have passed, and the small village has grown into a much larger city. Brick pathways wove between stone buildings that housed the same friendly, well-bonded community. Pokemon would wave hello to one another as they left to fish in the nearby rivers.

It was near the Southern gate of Churchwell Village that the Arcanine finally stopped, turning his head to his three passengers. "Welcome to your destination," he greeted them. Those had been his first words since he started his journey; that generic phrase he was required to say to all of his customers once he arrived.

"Thank you," Rose kindly replied, undoing the leather straps and hopping down. The other two repeated her words and followed her lead to the dirt.

"Good luck to you guys," the Arcanine wished them and then began down the brick path, fading into the background.

"Where's the guy supposed to be?" Riley asked, standing on the tips of his toes as if that would help him find the client.

"It says to look for them in a tavern, right around where we are now," Rose answered. "Quote, 'some cheap place called _The Failing Liver_. Just because I like the name.' So keep an eye out."

"Sounds like a nice establishment," Pyro said quizaciously.

"It's not even noon yet. Don't worry about it," Rose eased.

"Found it," Riley blurted, pointing further down the brick path. Following the aim of his finger brought you to a simple building with stone walls connected by logs at the corners. A sign perpendicular to the front door read _The Fa li g Liv r_ in fading red paint.

"Huh," Rose mumbled. "Well, let's not keep them waiting any longer."

After a short walk, they opened the old oak door and walked to the tavern. Unsurprisingly, it was almost entirely empty this time of day. No one attended the bar with a handbell holding down a scrap of paper that read "ring for service". No waiters brought food or drink from the back room that was presumed to be the kitchen. No cleaners tended to the sticky stains on the floor or to the mixed odor of mildew and bleach that filled the room. Its only current inhabitant sat in a booth on the wall opposing the bar. A Sandslash sat facing the door with a half-eaten sandwich before him. He noticed the three enter, and his gaze immediately fell to the adventurer's bags they carried with them.

"You the Explorers?" the Ground-type asked.

"Yessir," Rose answered. "Team Hellraisers, at your service."

"Kids, huh?" Sandslash chuckled. "Guess I can't complain, really. Thanks for coming all the way out here."

"Don't worry about it," Pyro waved it away. "We can't ignore someone because they're too far away, can we?"

"Suppose not," Sandslash shrugged. "But still, it'll nearly be sundown by the time you hit Knowall. And an Express travel back from there will be another hour or two. We won't keep you here longer than we need to, will we?"

"We?" Rose asked, looking around as if someone was hiding underneath the tables.

"Me and Bouffy. He's resting out back." The Ground-type nodded towards the back. "We were part of a larger caravan near the north end of the Sawtooth Mountains. The girl in charge told us to head this way and pick something important up, and then head to Churchwell and wait for guild assistance. She and the rest of them continued along the mountains. Probably hit Wrytsburg yesterday and're on their way now."

"Then let's not waste time, shall we?" Rose suggested.

"No problem here," Sandslash replied, picking up the remains of his sandwich. "Like I said, just head around back."

Riley was the first one to slip out, immediately followed by his recently acquired teammates out behind the tavern. All that awaited them there was a fenced in area about the same size as the main room in the guild hall. Only a few tufts of grass managed to thrive in the toiled dirt, churned up like it had been used to host some violent sport. Three sets of wheel tracks lead to three wagons hitched together with steel pegs. They were on the smaller side, maybe about 8x8x6 with a short balcony on the front and back ends. Sliding doors would come out of the walls to close them off in case of weather.

"Work time?" a groan sounded. Next to a half-empty water trough, there laid an old, worn Bouffalant. His afro had begun to gray, and a chipped horn propped up his head as his tired gaze set upon the young Explorers. "Oh well…" He sighed faintly before rolling onto his stomach and slowly standing himself up.

"You're the driver, I presume?" Rose asked the Normal-type.

"Guess you could say that," Bouffalant shrugged, stretching his legs. "Just make sure to keep this… what can barely be called a 'caravan' intact."

"Our intention was nothing otherwise," she assured.

"That's good to hear, but I didn't ask what your intentions were," the Normal-type countered with a dazed annoyance. "I'm sure your guildmaster told you something along the lines of ' _words by themselves mean nothing_ ', did he not?"

"We've never had anyone that _needed_ to be taught that," Pyro butted in. "Anyone ready enough to be an Explorer would know that."

Bouffalant rolled his eyes and muttered something just under his breath before meandering over to the lead cart to hook himself in. "There's room in the back cart, if you wanna make yourselves cozy."

"Thanks," Rose said, uttering the word as if it were a hex. She made her way over to the third cart, her teammates following closely behind. The door was open, and the wagon was filled about halfway with barrels and crates. A finely crafted wardrobe sat in the corner with a thick layer of white padding around it.

"So, what's the plan?" asked an eager Riley, carelessly tossing his bag through the doorway. It hit the wall with a soft thud and splayed out on top of one of the barrels.

"There isn't one," the Charmander answered. "The route's already mapped. All we do is get rid of any wild Pokemon who get in our path. And possibly bandits, if it comes to that."

"Bandits?" Riley repeated. An excited smile began to sprout.

"Don't count on it," the Roselia warned him. "There isn't much worth robbing here, from what it said on the job request."

"But that also makes us an easy target, too," the Riolu objected.

"So let's hope it doesn't come to that," Rose said through clenched teeth. "Because as ' _exciting_ ' as it would be, usually they'd bring the whole thieves' den along. Counting Sandslash, they'd outnumber us 5 to 1 at least. We'd have to play extremely defensively to even _try_ and make sure they don't take anything."

"That's all a part of the fu-"

"How about we continue this conversation tomorrow, when you've actually completed your first mission?" she sternly 'suggested', turning away and pulling herself up to the wagon's floor. Pyro gave a semi-sympathetic shrug to the Fighting-type and followed after her.

"Sorry to keep you waiting," called Sandslash. "Had to pay the bill. Took me a minute to find the old lady that runs the place… oh, hey Bouffy. They brought you your food, right?"

"Yyyyup," Bouffalant groggily answered. "Got enough in me to make it the whole way there."

"Good to hear," Sandslash beamed. "Everything closed and ready to go?"

"Except for the back one. Kids settled down in the caboose."

Sandslash peered back to see Riley sitting on the roof, supporting himself on his elbows as his feet dangled over the edge. The Ground-type chuckled to himself, and then proceeded to jump up to the front of the leading cart, where a small bench awaited him. "We'll be late as it is," he digressed. "Better get going."

"Loud n' clear," Bouffalant muttered. He took a single step forward, pulling the reins taut as they fought to keep him in place. The old Normal-type grunted under his breath with his second step. The carts all began to crawl forward as Bouffalant stole a third. Then a fourth. Fifth, sixth, seventh, with each successive progression came a decreasing resistance from his cargo.. The caravan moved from a crawl to a stroll as his pace quickened. Before he knew it, he passed between the buildings and made it onto the main road leading out of Churchwell Village, and no more than a minute later they had left the limits, and safety, of town.

…

Churchwell Village was far behind them as Bouffalant had now broken into a controlled sprint. They couldn't spare any of the daylight they had left, for Knowall town was miles away, and the blazing star in the sky was falling like the last grain of sand in an hourglass. The small train of carts rattled and bounced as they rushed down the dirt path, rolling over rounded stones and through small ruts. Bouffalant hid his heavy breaths as he charged onward with the ferocity of a rhino rampaging through the battlefield. A wavering red flag taunted him at every winding turn, leaning the wagons to one side as he struggled to keep his momentum

A mere ten feet behind was his superior, Sandslash. His claws dug into his seat as he clung on for dear life. And next to him, patrolling the front stood the Roselia. The red flower she held against the wooden wall kept her, for the most part, in place.

"Gotta admit," she said, somewhere just below a yell. "Didn't expect the old guy to run this fast."

"Yeah, I know," Sandslash shouted back. "Luckily we aren't carrying anything too delicate."

"I'm not too sure about that," she sighed, leaning off the side of the wagon to see the Riolu sitting casually on the roof of the second wagon. His feet still dangled off the side, passively kicking back and forth. He impatiently switched his gaze from side to side, scanning the bushes and the trees for any possible inhabitants. But aside from the occasional Rattata or Zigzagoon scavenging for some fruit, there was nothing for him to do but sit there and turn his head as if he were watching a game of tennis.

"What's his deal, anyways?" the Ground-type asked, overhearing his whine over the rattling caravan.

"It's his first mission," she answered. "He wanted something more ' _exciting_ ', but…"

"You don't want to babysit him, right?" Sandslash guessed.

"Yeah, that," she concurred.

"Yeah, constantly having to manage a rookie can be annoying. Trust me, I've had to do that for years now," he offered. "But we're only just about a tenth of the way there. There'll be something for him to do before long, no doubt about it."

"I hope so," she mumbled, rolling her eyes.

"At least you're not his only guardian," Sandslash consoled, referring to the Charmander inside the back cart, doing who knows what behind the closed door. "Even one more hand can help out immensely."

"'Guardian'," she quoted, chuckling faintly. "He'd throw quite a fit if he heard you say that."

With an irritated groan, the Riolu laid down on his back and splayed out on the sunbaked roof. He took a deep, deep breath, rendering his clenched fists loose as he began to bask in the warmth. _Jesus Christ, this is getting boring_ , he thought. _She could've at least picked something more thrilling than this, couldn't she? Like… maybe hunting a bounty of some sort. Yeah… yeah, that'd be something fun_. The Fighting-type closed his eyes as he began to formulate the scene in his head. _It could be a… a big, tough guy. Like an Aggron, or a Tyranitar. Too many crimes to list on one poster. Ranked three spots above us... We take it anyways. Track him down i_ -

The wheel rushed over another stone, jolting the wagon up and violently stirring Riley from his thoughts as the back of his head whiplashed into the roof. He groaned again as he brought his right paw to soothe himself. "That Bouffalant," he muttered under his breath. "Gonna crack my head open before we get there… probably what's keeping the wild Pokemon away, too…" He opened his eyes slowly, adapting to the harsh sunlight once again. And as his eyelids withdrew, Riley couldn't help but notice a silhouette against the vast blue sky. A small Flying-type, from the looks of it. Murky black, and with an odd brush-like tuft sticking out of the back. He tilted his head and focused his gaze in closer.

Uncertain, he opened his mouth and shouted to the others, "Hey, guys!"

"What is it?" the Grass-type called.

"There's something flying over us!" Riley continued. "I think it's a Murkrow, but I'm not entirely sure!"

"Murkrow…?" She muttered, aiming her gaze up in search of the silhouette. "They're not unheard of here. Keep an eye on it, but don't freak out."

"Yes ma'am," he said with feigned enthusiasm. "Because that's what I came out here to do. Birdwatching." Riley bitterly shook his head. "Of all the jobs we almost got, I can't believe I got _this_ lucky."

He closed his eyes with an irritated sigh, placing his paws behind his head and bathing in the sunlight. But before he could begin to internally monologue some more about his impatient boredom, a loud _thump_ reached his ears. Riley frantically raised his head up and opened his eyes to see another Pokemon on the roof of the first cart: a Murkrow. Eager, he scrambled to his feet and stared at the Flying-type with what could only be called _hunger_.

"Hey, guys!" he called again, masking his smile.

"What is it now?!" shouted back an irritated Rose.

"We've got company!"


	6. Chapter 6: Her Mission

Sneasel and Breloom began making their way back to the orphanage soon after getting the next mission. It was just a little after sunrise, and life emerged from the grueling depths of sleep. The world was quiet, and so were they. It had been almost an entire hour until Sneasel finally said something.

"Before you even ask: no," Sneasel sternly told Breloom.

"I didn't even say anything!" Breloom exclaimed.

"You didn't have to. I know that gleam in your eyes. You want to come with me on the raid, right?" Sneasel posed.

Breloom paused for a moment before daring to ask, "Isn't it part of my training to receive experience in all kinds of missions?"

"No, it's part of your training to survive until adulthood," Sneasel responded.

"Come on, do you really think it'll be _that_ dangerous?"

"A hundred things could go wrong on a mission like this. We have next to no information on this caravan. It could be packed to the brim with explosives, or sheltering vicious criminals," Sneasel explained. "It's far too dangerous for a kid."

"I'm not a kid! You've sent me on far more dangerous missions than this!"

"I said no! Enough with this, before I get angry," Sneasel told him.

Breloom fell silent. The two of them walked in silence once more as they came close to Hazel Town.

"Then, I'll just tell Joker you're going on a raid. I'm sure he'd love to join," Breloom said quietly. Joker was the type of guy who couldn't be quiet to save his life. On a stealth mission such as this, he was the last one Sneasel wanted tagging along.

She glared at the grass-type. "You little shit, are you threatening me?"

"No, of course not. I'm just saying, if I'm not coming along, you're gonna need someone else to help in my place," Breloom smirked down at the shorter Pokemon.

"Have you always been this cunning?" Sneasel asked. "Very well! I'll let you tag along. But it isn't my fault if you get killed."

"Really? Yes!" Breloom jumped with victory.

…

"... So, I have decided to bring just the two of you with me on this raid," Sneasel stated. In front of her was Breloom, who was brimming with excitement, and Murkrow, who seemed worried. The three were standing outside the orphanage.

"Just the three of us?" he asked.

"Is that a problem?" Sneasel responded.

"Well, no, but doesn't this seem a bit dangerous for Breloom?" Murkrow continued.

"He's level 25 now, I think he can hold his own against caravan travellers," Sneasel stated.

"But what if they've got guards?" Murkrow asked.

"Then I leave him to you." Sneasel patted Murkrow's back. "Let's go. The caravan will be passing through Churchwell soon."

"Roger!" the two responded at once.

…

It was a short journey back to Churchwell, mainly because the trio ran the whole way. Once they arrived, they easily spotted their target parked behind a tavern. The three hid behind a neighboring building to get a look at their enemies.

"See, look. Those are Guild pokemon," Murkrow nodded to three pokemon standing beside the cart: Riolu, Charmander, and Roselia. Later, they would be informed that the trio's names are Riley, Pyro, and Rose. "What kind of idiot named these guys?" Sneasel would ask upon learning this.

"Looks like they're from Gallade's place," Sneasel added.

"Well, they don't look too tough. Plus, we can assume since they hired guild members, the caravan doesn't have any defenses on its own," Sneasel responded, "meaning if we take out those three, we win."

"It should be fairly easy. We can go now," Breloom moved towards the caravan, but Sneasel blocked him.

"Not yet. We don't want any of Churchwell's citizens jumping in," Sneasel told him, "Murkrow will keep an eye on them from the sky, but don't circle around."

"Of course I won't circle them. What, do you think I'm stupid?" Murkrow scoffed.

"Breloom and I will follow the caravan from a distance, and when Murkrow gives the signal, we'll attack," Sneasel continued.

"Sounds good," Breloom agreed.

"Suppose they attack first?" Murkrow asked.

"Then we'll have no choice but to retaliate. Once they know we're here, their guard will be up. We've only got one shot."

"Sneas, they're moving," Breloom told them.

"Alright. Let's follow." Sneasel led the group at a cautious distance from the caravan, with Murkrow following from the sky.

…

Sneasel had thought it'd be difficult to stay so far behind the caravan, but she soon found it was even _more_ difficult to keep up with it. The old Bouffalant stampeded down the winding path as if his life were on the line. And at that speed with what was at least a few tons of cargo behind him, it now might as well be.

Breloom ran on the right side of the caravan, far enough away to not draw attention. Sneasel mirrored him on the left side. And Murkrow was floating above with a sort of nonchalance to him, often getting ahead of the Bouffalant that was pulling it.

It took a short while to get away from everyone. Even outside of the main town of Churchwell Village, some Pokemon had settled down in homes along the dirt path. Most of them were small family-run farms. But once the last one had fallen behind a distant hill, it was time. Murkrow deftly dove down, landing on the roof of the first cart with a _thump_.

Riley frantically raised his head up and opened his eyes to see another Pokemon on the roof of the first cart. Eager, he scrambled to his feet and stared at the Flying-type with what could only be called _hunger_.

"Hey, guys!" he called again, masking his smile.

"What is it now?!" shouted back an irritated Rose.

"We've got company!"

"What?!" she nearly shrieked. "Arceus…! Sandslash, stay here. We should be able to handle this." The Ground-type nodded nervously as Rose climbed to the roof.

Murkrow shot a Mean Look at Rose. She froze for a moment, out of either fear or confusion, or maybe some of both. Riley lunged toward the bird with blinding white Quick Attack while he was looking away. His shoulder rammed into the Flying-type's side, doing barely more than pushing the intruder back an inch. Immediately after, Rose formed and flung a Shadow Ball from her left flower, crashing it into Murkrow's back. The combined attacks barely managed to phase him as he unfolded his wing and smacked an Assurance into Riley. The Fighting-type flew back with a muffled groan, landing splayed out on the wood.

"Riley!" Rose screamed, eyes wide.

"I'm fine, don't worry," he coughed, standing himself back up. "It's just one attack. I can handle it." Riley wiped the dirt off of him, readying his stance as he stared at the Murkrow. "Awfully quiet, ain't he?" he grinned.

"Could be Wild," she posed. "Wild Pokemon don't really talk."

Having heard the commotion, the Charmander in the back flung open the door, leaving behind a variety of papers spilled out on the floor. But just as he saw the top of Riley's head over the roof, a Sneasel sat perched in the corner of his vision.

"Another one?" Pyro growled. Flames built up in his throat as the Sneasel began to approach. He arched his neck and spat an Ember forth. The Ice-type's claw shimmered with a Metal Claw as she smacked it away. Then she leapt forward, assaulting the Charmander with a barrage of Fury Swipes.

Armoring through it, Pyro's mouth erupted in flames as he bit down with a Fire Fang on the Sneasel's shoulder. The invader yelped in pain, bringing her claw down on his head to loosen his grip and jump back. She clutched her shoulder, glaring at the Charmander with her fangs bared.

Murkrow darted towards Rose with a Wing Attack, only to miss as she rolled out of the way. She aimed her red flower at the Flying-type and conjured a Venoshock underneath him, and it erupted onto him. Frantically he shook himself to get the burning poison off of him. Before the bird could get half of it off he was hit in the back with a Force Palm. Riley dashed up behind him and a plume of aura nearly pushed the Murkrow over on his back. Nearly, but not quite.

Riley shifted his gaze to his palm, inspecting it curiously with a naive grin on his face. "Force Palm, eh…? That makes t-" The Murkrow's Feint Attack cut him off as it jabbed him in the gut. Spittle sprayed out of his mouth as the wind got knocked out of him. Before he could follow it up with a Wing Attack, another Shadow Ball crashed into his back.

With a ravenous war cry, Sneasel leapt forward once again with a series of Feint Attacks. Every time Pyro raised his arm to block one, the other would infiltrate his guard. He took step by step back in an attempt to absorb some of the impact. But that only worked for so long, now that his left foot was mere inches from the edge. A few more hits and he'd fall to the roadside, leaving Sneasel to attack the others.

Gritting his teeth, he powered through the attacks, grabbing her wrists and spitting out a blue Dragon Rage at her. The impact knocked her out of his grip, sending her sprawling out on the small platform. Pyro ran in to keep up the attack, but Sneasel, quick as ever, brought her foot back and kicked it into the Charmander's chest. As he fell over she scrambled to her feet, leaping for the third time and straddled the Fire-type with a Metal Claw hanging above him. Grinning, she brought it down into Pyro's underbelly, softly tearing at the flesh. He tried his best to hold in the cries, biting down on his own lip to mask his weakness.

Before she could attack again, the back door to the second wagon swung open, and in came Sandslash to the rescue, swinging at the Ice-type with a Crush Claw on her chin. A surprised Sneasel flew backwards, only managing to stay onboard by digging her claws into the wagon wall.

"Thank you," Pyro panted, standing himself up.

"Don't mention it," Sandslash panted back. "I just didn't wanna leave you alone back here."

Murkrow jumped away from the two of them warily, masking his fatigue. He puffed up his feathers to appear bigger, then dashed forward and hit Rose with Wing Attack. She staggered back, nearly falling off the edge of the roof. But, as the Flying-type was turning around to target Riley once again, she extended her blue flower towards the intruder. The thorny tendrils of a Giga Drain shot out and enveloped Murkrow, digging in and sapping the life out of him. Rose pulled herself forward, rejuvenated, and the vines all rapidly lost their strength and faded away, blown by the wind like cut grass.

The Flying-type swore under his breath, alternating his gaze between his two opponents. Who knew how much longer he could last like this? He could call Sneasel or Breloom for help, but that would risk exposing them. Maybe, he would… his gaze briefly shot up at the sky. Clear as could be… and he had just enough energy to get himself out of there. Perhaps he would have gone, if he had not picked up on a peculiar rumbling from below.

He, along with the guild Pokemon, turned towards the back of the caravan to see a surge of water propelling towards them in an Aqua Jet. The attack quickly dispersed, bursting apart in a spray of water. "Ok, what the _hell_ is going on up here that you need to be so damn loud?" shouted the Pokemon emerging from the attack.

At the end of the first wagon now stood an irritated and tired Floatzel. His fur was stained with colorful dyes. He had a red tear under one eye and a blue star under the other. His hind paws were black, as if he were wearing shoes, and his front paws were white like gloves. A yellow stripe wound its way down from the tips of his tails and joined together at the base.

"J-Joker?!" Murkrow gaped.

"Wait… he just said something," Riley pointed out. "I thought wild Pokemon don't talk."

"Because he _isn't_ ," Rose pointed out. "Looks like you got your wish. Bandits." The Riolu had to resist the urge to cheer.

"Ah, shit. Cover's blown," Murkrow muttered to himself.

"Murky! What are you doing here?" Joker smiled.

"What does it look like I'm doing?" Murkrow spat.

Riley clenched his fist, staring up at the Water-type with that same _hunger_. "I guess this makes you another enemy?" he asked, taking a step forward with a Force Palm at the ready.

"I guess so," Joker sighed. "Allow me to help!"

Riley charged forward, teeth clenched and palm cocked back. The Floatzel rolled around to his back as the Riolu shot his attack forward, and dug his teeth into Riley's tail. Drawing out an Ice Fang, Joker's fangs secured their position in his flesh as a layer of frost grew over the blue fur. The Fighting-type yelped faintly, wondering why anyone would aim for the tail of all places. But before he could stomp down on his snout, Joker conjured another Aqua Jet. Armoured in a shell of water, the Floatzel lunged forward, sweeping a frightened Riley off his feet. It only lasted for a short burst before Joker sprang out of the spray and released the tail from his fangs. Like a ragdoll, the Fighting-type bounced off the roof and rolled over the side of the wagon.

"Rile-" Rose's cry was quickly cut off by Murkrow's swooping Wing Attack, brushing the top of her head as she dove out of the way. A quickly-shot Water Gun hit her in the back, but not surprisingly did nearly nothing.

The Charmander, near the back of the caravan, jumped back as Sneasel's Metal Claw swung down, allowing Sandslash to lunge forward with a Crush Claw. The attack collided with the Ice-type, crashing into her and forcing her to the wall. Pyro readied another Ember, loading the flames in his throat as he normally did, until he was hit in the back of the head with a Wing Attack. The fire flew out of his mouth in a cloud of a thousand sparks as he staggered forward. Out of the corner of his eye, the black figure of Murkrow dropped down and landed upon the platform.

"What the hell're you doing here?" Sneasel demanded.

"The front's handled, and Sandslash was missing. Figured he was back here, so I came to lend a hand," Murkrow explained.

"'Handled'?" Sneasel repeated.

"I knocked one of 'em off, and… _help_ showed up to buy time from the other," Murkrow answered.

"Wait, what?" asked a recovering Pyro. "Who was it?" The tip of a blue flame flickered out of the corner of his maw.

"Don't see why I should tell _you_ ," Murkrow scoffed.

"Because if you don't, I will personally _cook_ you alive and toss you to the Wilds," Pyro growled. The fire on the end of his tail flared with rage.

Murkrow took a step back with his brow raised. "The… the Riolu," he stammered.

"Riley…!" Pyro whispered. He clenched his trembling fists as the flames in his mouth intensified, spilling out like juices from tender meat. " _I'll broil you both!_ " The Fire-type lunged forward, shooting out a Dragon Rage at Murkrow. The Flying-type cried out as the blue flames coated him, knocking him into the interior of the middle wagon. As he splayed out on the floor, an enraged Charmander sprinted after him with a Fire Fang at the ready.

Smirking grimly, Sneasel dashed towards the Sandslash with a Feint Attack. The back of her claws bashed into the Ground-type's side, taking away his balance and forcing him into the cart. "Duck!" she screamed to Murkrow, standing in the doorway. The Flying-type dove behind a crate as the two other Pokemon turned to the Ice-type. After a deep breath, she exhaled sharply and conjured an Icy Wind to storm through the cart. Barrels and boxes shook violently as frost coated the surfaces of it. The Charmander and Sandslash were tossed out in the gale, rolling through the front door. Shards of ice and snow blew out with them, spraying outwards as the attack came in contact with the back of the first wagon.

The pieces glimmered in the sunlight, catching Rose's eye as she stood across from the Floatzel apparently dubbed Joker. _Looks like they're having it rough_ , she thought to herself, listening to the stampede of the cargo. She thought about going to help them, but… with a hint of guilt, her gaze shifted to where Riley had been hurled off. Would he be okay without them? He had taken a bit of a hit back there, and falling off at this speed… if he had hit _anything…_

"Where're you looking?" Joker called, waking Rose from her trans. The Water-type twirled around, flicking his twin tails at her and conjuring a volley of stars in their arc. The Swifts zipped towards her, homing in and connecting like dozens of stones. She yelped in pain and raised her frail arms to guard her, her eyes closed to protect her from the burst each one would make upon impact, like a golden firework.

But for now, her fears were unneeded, for clung to the underbelly of the third wagon was the Riolu. His fur was matted with dust, and his eyes were clamped shut to keep the dust cloud out. Two arms wrapped around the rattling framework with the tenacity of a starving animal to a piece of meat. "God… god _damn_ it," he panted through his gritted teeth. "I'm _not_ gonna wake up in that stupid infirmary a third time!"

Through the sliver of vision his eyes permitted him, he could _just_ see a figure standing on the small platform between the two wagons. From what he could tell, it appeared to be a Breloom, hammering his tail down on the latch connecting the wagons. Riley grinned savagely with excitement, nimbly working his way across the framework like a cat. He pulled himself, masking his movements in the _clang, clang, clang_ of Breloom's heavy attacks. His blood was up, his adrenaline was high, and he wanted his chance to fight.

The jackal pounced on his back, wrapping his legs around the Grass-type's throat and unleashing a flurry of punches into the back of his head. They were weak, comparatively, but plentiful. The disorientated Grass-type stumbled back with his eyes clenched shut. Annoyed, he jumped back, bashing the Fighting-type against the wall. Riley coughed, spittle spraying out of his mouth. His limbs went limp, and he slid down the wall as he tried to regain his breath.

"Damn furball," Breloom grumbled, soothing his throat as he stalked back to the latch. "Just a few more hits…" The club-like end of his tail smashed into the latch, and the metal rattled as pieces broke loose. Another swing, and it was now just a jagged pin connecting the two carts. And with a third, it wasn't even that. Shrapnel tumbled in the dirt as they broke off, and gradually the leading carts began pulling away from the rear.

Sneasel ducked out of the way of an impending Sand Tomb as Murkrow dove at Sandslash with another Wing Attack. Her gaze shifted to the metallic _snap_ of the latch, and she grinned a victorious grin upon seeing that Breloom had been successful. But that quickly melted into shock and a hint of fear as she saw, standing behind him, the Riolu. A vortex of aura built up around his right arm. It churned and it swirled, it pulsed and it flexed, crawling, swarming, around and around as it made its way towards the palm.

Instinctively, Sneasel dashed forward, leaping the increasing distance between them and kicking Breloom out of the way of the attack. The charged Force Palm blasted into her chest, aura bursting outwards like the petals of some astral flower. She couldn't even make a noise before rocketing backwards, bursting through the wall. For a moment, her mind went blank. Her vision grew blurry, and she could taste the blood pooling in her mouth.

The Riolu looked down to his paw, his eyes wide with disbelief. "Jesus Christ…" he whispered. "That… that was _amazing_."

"Sneasel!" Breloom shouted, scrambling to his feet. His gaze focused on the Ice-type, laying in broken scraps of wood and what appeared to be flour. Her movements were slow and twitchy, moving on what seemed to be sheer will. He growled out of frustration and turned to the bewildered Riolu. "You son of a _bitch_ , I'll…!"

"Don't you _dare!_ " Sneasel bellowed, raising her head to glare daggers at Breloom. The Grass-type froze. "The furball's _mine_ now, got it?!"

"But he-... understood." Reluctantly, Breloom jumped off the slowing cart and sped towards the other two. Sneasel forced herself to her feet, cracking her neck and her knuckles as her fierce stare aimed directly at the Riolu's neck.

"Gotta admit, I didn't think the runt of the group would have that in him," she bitterly told him. "You proud of that fluke?"

"Little bit, yeah," Riley grinned.

"Good… treasure the feeling it gave you." The Ice-type smirked, getting into a runner's stance. "Because that's the only hit you'll get!"

"Damn it, wait!" Rose shouted from the front, her panicked stare set upon the lagging behind wagon detached from the first two. "Hey, Bouffalant! Slow down! They broke off a cart!"

"Workin' on it," the Normal-type said back in his usual, tired tone. "If I stopped right now, the reins would snap, and everything would roll all over the place. We don't want that… Just give me a few minutes or so."

"Come _on!_ " Joker shouted, conjuring another Swift with a graceful twirl. "I _just_ told you to stay focused!" The volley of stars again homed in on the Grass-type, digging into her leaf-like skin and bursting apart in a glimmer of light. Rose let out a brief cry of pain.

A concerned Pyro gazed up with wide eyes towards her, only to be hit by Murkrow's Feint Attack, sending him sprawling onto the floor and nearly falling off the small platform. Sandslash brought up his claw behind the Flying-type to swing another Crush Claw, but Breloom jumped up behind him and slammed a Headbutt into him, knocking the Ground-type into the interior of the wagon.

"Nice job back there," Murkrow greeted.

"Yeah… I just hope Snea-"

"Don't," Murkrow interrupted. "She'll be fine. The Riolu's like half her level."

"I kn-" He could barely even start before being cut off by Sandslash unleashing a Sand Tomb, trapping the Breloom in a vortex of sand. Murkrow was about to attack, but a recovering Pyro spat out another Dragon Rage, coating the black bird in blue flames.

Joker dashed forward in an Aqua Jet, sinking an Ice Fang into the side of a flinching Rose. As frost grew over her, she inexplicably powered through and pressed her red floral hand into the shell of water and shot out the thorny tendrils of a Giga Drain. The Floatzel cried in pain, feeling his energy sapping out of him as the wounds on Rose's body miraculously healed. That is, save for the bite mark in her side as Joker shook his head with his Ice Fang inside her. It was as if he were going to tear part of her off.

Thinking quickly, she tore away the Giga Drain, pointing her flower underneath the Water-type. A Venoshock erupted beneath him, pluming outwards and piercing through his shell of water. The burning poison mixed with his Aqua Jet, shrouding him in a searing, murky brown. Without opening his mouth, in fear of letting the toxin in, he jolted back and burst apart his Aqua Jet, panting heavily as he tried to regain himself.

Rose stared back at him, holding a hand over the bleeding wound on her side. Her whole body began to feel numb. Every movement she made required her to puppet herself along. _Just who are they?_ she found herself thinking. _They're not just ordinary bandits… Their strategy is bolder than most- more tactful than most…_

She twisted her blue floral hand, attempting to conjure a Shadow Ball. But the darkness wouldn't form. Where that churning orb of the eldritch eggplant shadow should have been now stood just the current of swiftly-moving air. "C'mon," she muttered, teeth clenched. Even with her trembling hand straining to form her attack, there was still nothing there. And it was only seconds after that when her hand stopped altogether, limply hanging by her side. She could barely move it anymore. She could barely even stand altogether.

"Damn it…!" she weakly shouted, stamping her foot on the roof. The Ice Fang had torn out more than her Giga Drain could recover. The only move she had a chance of being able to summon would be Stun Spore, and without being able to move her flowers, she would only be able to hit with it if Joker walked through it politely, like testing a spritz of perfume. She couldn't win anymore. She couldn't even fight anymore.

Joker stood across from her patiently. His head was cocked to the side, and his short arms hung at his sides. "Just, stop already," he asked of her. "I'd feel like I'm bullying if I attack you now."

"N-no!" she yelled, desperate. "I'm… I'm not quitting!"

Silence. Joker's somber gaze met Rose's false intensity. He sighed heavily. "So be it," he shrugged. It was almost instantaneous. A Water Gun shot out of his jaws, hitting the Roselia in her chest. The last of her health left her. She laid out on the roof, whispering something unintelligible with that last gasp of breath before falling unconscious. Joker shook his head and strolled away.

Closing his eyes, Breloom braved through the Sand Tomb and stormed the Sandslash with a Force Palm in his chin. The Ground-type crashed through a crate of spools of silk. As the Grass-type opened his eyes again, he swung his tail towards Sandslash and brought forth a golden cloud of Stun Spores. His movements became sluggish and strained. His body burned as it tried to tell him to stop, to stay still and lay there. With an annoyed growl, he jumped up and swiped with a Fury Cutter across Breloom's chest, causing him to stagger back. He followed it up with another, slashing again. His claws cut through his skin, scraping up against the ribs. But as he brought his claw up a third time, he felt a sudden jolt of that burning sensation run through his body, locking up his joints like a rusted doll.

Murkrow flew in towards the Ground-type, driving his beak into Sandslash's gut. The Paralyzed Pokemon flew backwards, sprawling out on the floor. Breloom hopped in again, aiming his tail at Sandslash as a series of small vines shot out and wrapped around him. The small thorns of the Mega Drain dug into his skin, sapping away his remaining strength. "You… _bastards…!_ " he croaked, raising his quivering hand towards his attackers. His blurry vision faded away to black as his limp body laid out on the floor, unconscious.

The Charmander leapt up from behind, sinking a Fire Fang into Breloom's shoulder. His jaws tore through the muscles. Teeth scraped against bone as flames seared the meat upon contact. Breloom cried out in pain, flailing about in an attempt to free himself from the hungry grip of the Fire-type. He slammed Pyro into the walls and crates, but each impact only seemed to tighten the grip on that vice of a jaw. It was all he could do anymore, after all.

Murkrow swooped in, dragging his talons along his back and cutting through the scales. But even still, those fangs anchored the Charmander to Breloom's back. He screamed and cried out, slamming his claws down on the Fire-type's maw. It did no good. Each subsequent hit grew weaker than the last. His health was rapidly depleting, and it didn't take long for his legs to give out beneath him. His cries silenced as he collapsed onto the floor, mere feet away from Sandslash.

Pyro pulled himself up, tearing off a chunk of seared meat in the process. He chewed it slowly as the embers coating his teeth died off. Juices pooled in his mouth, both raw and cooked.

There was only a faint moment between Murkrow and the Charmander where their eyes met again. Those once soft blue gems now burned like his Dragon Rages in that simple, primal way. Murkrow couldn't help but to momentarily wonder if he was, in fact, from the guild.

As another Ember began to pool in the Charmander's throat, Murkrow saw his opportunity. And he had to take it while it remained. The Flying-type pushed off the floor, gliding and twisting through the air as an Ember grazed the brim of his hat. He dove into the Fire-type, stretching out his wing for a Wing Attack.

Pyro leaned out of the way, unfolding his arms and wrapping them around the bird's body. The flame-coated jaws of another Fire Fang sunk into Murkrow's side, locking him in place. But he braved through the pain on sheer will alone. Murkrow's beak coated itself in an eldritch energy, turning itself into a malevolent purple as he pecked the side of Pyro's head with an odd, wet _smack_. The twin Dragon Rages burnt down to an almost pitiful glow, like lit cigarettes. The Fire Fang faded away, and the teeth slid out of the wounds they created. With one last, scornful growl, Pyro fell onto the floor, leaving an injured Murkrow panting on the floor.

And so, the only guild member that remained stood on the slowing, rattling wagon almost a mile behind the remains of the caravan. Riley stared down Sneasel as he stood in the stance of a child impersonating Dragon Ball.

"Bandits, huh?" he said. "I was hoping I'd run into you… unlikely though it was."

"How so?" Sneasel asked, restraining herself from lunging forward. She rasped her claws together in some foreign war dance.

"Rose said that we're a small target," Riley explained. "That there isn't anything too valuable here to attract bandits. Nearly gave up hope of finding a group like you."

"A small target won't be protected as well, now will it?" she countered.

"That's what _I_ told her," Riley concurred. A moment of silence passed between them before someone spoke up.

"You look young," Sneasel told him. "Part of me looks at you and your naivete, and wants to offer you mercy. To tell you to just back off and I won't have to hurt you. But, that Force Palm earlier… you understand that I can't just let you go after that, right?"

"I wouldn't have it any other way," Riley smirked, fists clenched. He jolted off of the floor with a Quick Attack, kicking against the wall to launch himself towards the Ice-type. A punch swung right by her head as she leaned to the side, uppercutting a Metal Claw into his stomach. The air left his lungs in one forceful cough as his weight draped him over Sneasel's arm.

She hurled the Fighting-type against the wall, following it up with an Icy Wind. The frosted gale pinned him to the wall as ice crept over him, coating his fur in a crisp coat. Relentless, Sneasel dashed in with her claws out and a Metal Claw prepared. Riley braced himself instinctively, raising a frosted arm to block as the attack dropped down. And it was then when he saw an opening, not even a moment long. Acting quickly, he pushed off the wall with yet another Quick Attack, driving a fist right into Sneasel's chest. She staggered back, only barely managing to withhold her balance. _Counter_ , she thought to herself. _Great_.

It was then when the whole wagon suddenly jumped up a foot in the air, throwing the two inhabitants up as well. Boxes flew about. They crashed into one another and into the walls. Barrels rolled towards the front door as outside, trees started rapidly passing them by.

"Shit," Sneasel murmured, slowly standing up on her new gravitational axis. "Rolled off the path… Should prob-" The Riolu cut her off with a dropkick to her back, knocking her off her feet. She flew out of the doorway, only saved by her quick reflexes and her sharp claws that dug into the wooden doorframe. Sneasel turned over, glaring up at the Fighting-type with her fangs bared.

With a growl she rushed to her feet, dashing for the Riolu in a blur. A barrage of Fury Swipes raked across his skin, cutting shallowly through. Tufts of blue fur matted down with thin layers of blood. The moment her final slash finished, Riley braved through the pain and lunged forward with another punch driving into her cheek. She armored through it, retaining her poise as she jabbed him in the chest with a Feint Attack. The Riolu splayed out on the floor, coughing and gasping for air. A panting Sneasel trudged forward with her arms by her side. She loomed over Riley like a gladiator over a defeated opponent.

"Looks like we're done here," she said, spitting out the blood in her mouth.

"L-like hell we are!" he stammered, shakily sitting himself up on trembling arms.

"Yes we are," she responded, forcefully pushing his head to the floor and grinding her foot. "You did better than I thought you would, admittedly, if that means anything." Sneasel walked away, towards a small chest the size of a breadbox. Elegant patterns engraved and stained traced along the faces of the box. Opening it only a faint sliver, she could see what must have been hundreds of golden, illuminating Joy Seeds. "Bingo," she grinned, closing it shut and tucking the box underneath her arm. "Sayonara, kid," she waved, making her way towards the back door.

"Get… g-get back here!" Riley screamed. "I'm not done with you!"

"You're about to be," she smiled, pointing down the path that the wagon was stampeding down. And right ahead of them, only a rapidly closing fifty feet away, was a tall pine tree, mighty and unmoving. Sneasel leapt out of the doorway, landing on the thick grass as the wagon smashed into the trunk of the pine. A reverberating _crash_ echoed through the forests as the wood cracked. The right wheels broke off and rolled away, crippling the cart and forcing it to lean to one side. Weak, agonizing moans faintly came from inside.

Sneasel shook her head and began to lumber her way up the hill. A jolt of pain shot through her with every step. She bit down hard on her lip in an attempt to distract herself to keep going forward. _Jesus_ , she thought. _He put up more of a fight than someone half my level should… I call bullshit_. Sneasel spat out another small pool of blood, limping up the hill with her mission just completed.


	7. Chapter 7: Another Assignment

It was a long ride to Knowall Town that evening. A bruised Sandslash sat at the front, behind Bouffalant as he sprinted down the path. His breaths had grown heavy and his movements were sluggish and sloppy. Every muscle screamed for him to stop for even a moment, but his goal lay in front of him just a few miles down the path.

Against the twilight, the shape of simple, rustic houses and shops awaited them on the path. Many of them were made of smooth stones from a riverbank with some mortar filling the gaps between them, or logs tucked snugly together and interlocking with one another.

As they grew near, Bouffalant slowed down to a brisk jog. The two wagons shook behind him as they were dragged along. On the front of the first sat a bruised and beaten Sandslash with one eye swollen over. A chipped claw held the cut end of an Oran Berry against it, numbing the pain and containing the swelling just enough to grant him a sliver of vision. And next to him again was the Roselia, leaning against the rattling wall. Scars had grown to cover the wounds in her side, and many of the red petals on her right floral hand were missing. Her arms were folded and her bitter gaze absently stared ahead into nothing.

In the small amount of space remaining in the second wagon, on a large box filled with spools of silk sat the Charmander. His pupils were dilated and his eyes fearful. Hands trembled as they scrubbed Pecha Berries against a row of sharp teeth to wash the taste of the meat out of his mouth with their sweet juice. He hadn't broken from his trance since they took off again, muttering something about the scratches on his back when asked what was wrong.

And finally, Riley sat against the back door of the second wagon. Tufts of fur were matted down with dirt and faint amounts of blood. His right arm rested on his knee, just allowing his glare to reach the broken latch. Fists switched between a loose and a tight clench as thoughts of the Sneasel entered his mind. He was _that_ close to taking her down. One more good hit, and it would've been over just like that. But right before he could get up and give her one… The Riolu growled lowly, smacking his open palm against the wooden platform.

"If I ever see her again…" he muttered to himself, trailing off at the end. He didn't know exactly what he would do, but it would sure as hell be something, God damn it. Maybe Riley would have thought of something if he hadn't been distracted by the homes that passed them by. Stone-and-mortar walls covered with a straw roof, and wisps of smoke snaking out from the chimneys gave them all an odd country charm. Through the windows, he could see Pokemon going about the dying hours of the day. In one, a Cinccino cradled an egg in his soft tails by the warmth of a crackling fire. Another showed a Furret carefully watching some sort of pastry baking in a primitive oven. He didn't know what it was, but something about the simplistic atmosphere about the town soothed Riley. His fists unfurled and laid softly on the floor.

A minute later, Bouffalant turned to the right down the wide roads and stopped in front of another tavern. This one was branded the simple name of _Sleeping Stallion_. As the wheels gently slowed down, the angry shouts of a Florges reached his ears. Riley crawled over and peered around the wall.

"What is this?" she shouted, sternly staring up at Sandslash as she pointing to the space where a third wagon should have been.

"A broken latch," Sandslash replied.

"What, _really?_ " Florges said quizaciously. "Wow, I- I hadn't even _noticed!_ "

"We were attacked by bandits," Rose interjected, falling back into her regal poise.

"Bandits, were they?" she scoffed. "So what use were you if you couldn't fend them off?" Riley had to bite his lip to avoid barking at her.

"Hey, go easy on them," Sandslash pleaded with her.

"Oh, so are _you_ going to take responsibility for an entire wagon of goods being stolen?" she threatened.

"We got 'em," Bouffalant rushed out, panting heavily. Every bit of strength he still held were being fueled into his legs just to keep him standing. "The stuff… stopped to… put in what we could."

"What?" Florges asked.

"The Pokemon just stole a chest of Joy Seeds," Rose explained. "The wagon they broke off rolled off path and into a tree. Some of the wheels broke off. But we were able to move most of what it had into the paths between the rows of cargo."

"Well…" Florges put a frail white hand to her chin. "Another wagon will cost me, but the recovered goods will easily pay for a dozen… It could have been worse, I suppose." She extended her other hand forward, revealing a small pile of coins wrapped up in a desert-sunrise pink fabric. A strand of twine bound the corners together.

"Thank you," the Grass-type bowed, taking the reward into her hand.

"It's just the promised reward," Florges dismissed. "You cost me a wagon, so there won't be anything extra. But I still got what I need, right?"

"Yes, Miss Florges," Sandslash meekly answered. "It's still right back here." He pointed his broken claw, still stabbed into half an Oran Berry, towards the door into the front cart.

"Perfect," she giggled, rubbing her hands together. "You did good enough. So just take the reward." Rose nodded and tucked away the small package into the small bag by her side. "The Express Travel is just down the street from here, if you're heading back to Treasure Town."

"That's good to know," she replied, hopping off the platform. "We'll be late as it is. Hey, Riley! You catch that?!"

"Huh? Oh, yeah," he shouted back.

"I'm gonna go find us a ride. You drag Pyro out of there."

"Got it," the Fighting-type said. And a mere few seconds later, there he stood in front of the cracked-open doorway. The glow of the Charmander's tail flickered, and the shadows it birthed danced in the twilight. Riley nudged the door open, head tilted as he peered inside. Pecha Berries worn down to the stems laid all around Pyro. His legs limply hung over the side of the box and his claws were interlocked with one another.

"Hey, are you… you doing alright?" Riley asked him.

"Fine," he answered weakly. "I'm fine."

"Look. I'm not a great…" He waved his paw around in small circles as he fumbled around in some astral scrabble bag in an attempt to find the right word. "Therapist, or whatever… but, I'm here if you need to talk about anything."

"I appreciate it." Pyro gazed up with his soft blue eyes. They were warm, but oddly fearful. The pupils were just small dots in a vast but calm sea. "But I'll be fine. This… isn't the first time it's happened."

"I… okay." The Fighting-type decided to drop the matter. "Rose went to get us a ride home. She'll be back in a minute."

"Hey, you two," Sandslash shouted from outside. The two turned towards him. "Thanks for the help today, but we need to unload for tomorrow." Behind him a Machamp and a Vigoroth walked out from the tavern door and opened the side of the wagon. Machamp jumped up on the side of it and rhythmically began taking heavy boxes between his muscled arms and tossing them down to the Vigoroth, who in turn caught them and placed them beside her.

"Oh, sorry." Pyro stood up and walked past Riley. "I hope you don't get in too much trouble for losing the back wagon."

"Don't you worry. I still got a good bonus coming my way regardless," Sandslash whispered, trying to speak under the grunts of the workers beside him.

"Good to hear, I guess." Pyro scratched the back of his head.

"See you guys around," Sandslash waved, opening the side of the wagon and getting to work.

"You gonna be alright?" Riley asked, gesturing to the dozens of bruises all over him.

"You kidding? I'm just fine," the Ground-type dismissed. "So long as all my bones are still there, I can keep going. Not that I have a choice, anyways."

"Heh. See you around." Riley waved back as he hopped down after the Charmander. They made their way around the stack of boxes that the two worker Pokemon were carrying one-by-one across the street and into a large brick building. Presumably some sort of warehouse. Florges sat inside the _Sleeping Stallion_ across from a _, with a filled mug next to each of them and a small stack of papers in the middle.

A moment later, Rose came back on a hardened saddle securely bound to the back of a Rapidash. Her hooves hit the dirt road with a series of soft _thuds_ as she trotted over to them, looking down with a tamed warmth about her.

"Job ran late, did it?" Rapidash asked.

"Yeah, guess so," Pyro answered.

"Just give me an hour," she promised as she lowered herself to the ground. "I'll have you three back in town before you know it."

…

She wasn't lying. They were back in Treasure Town before the twilight died off for the night, dropped off at the base of the carved hill where the wooden cabin was perched upon. A long, barren path wove up the side of it, loosely bordered by knee-high grass. Rapidash nodded a goodbye and walked further into town as she hid her breaths. Her fiery mane cast a small light in the approaching night. The three gave a brief look back before slowly making their way up the path.

"Huh," Rose exhaled, looking up at the cabin. On the porch there were the soft glows of Dusknoir's golden lines that wrapped around his arms and along his stomach, and the two eye-like spots on his chest. "I knew we were late, but the Night Guard beat us here…?"

"Then I guess we missed dinner," Pyro shrugged. "Riley, you good with grabbing some stuff from the mess hall?"

"Guess so, yeah," Riley shrugged. "Do I just go up and take some, or…?"

"One of the cooks should still be in there. Just ask him for three servings and wait for them to heat it up. Should only be a minute or two," he explained.

"Got it," Riley nodded.

"Evening," Dusknoir greeted from the porch. His single red eye looked down at them in an unintentionally intimidating angle, contrasting with the warm smile given off by the mouth on his large stomach. "Your mission dragged on, did it?"

"Little bit," Rose answered. "We got held up by some bandits."

"And how did he hold up?" His large hand gestured to the Riolu. Riley couldn't help but find it odd that this Dusknoir knew who he was, or at least something along those lines. Surely, newbies in a guild can't be all that rare, can they?

"He…" Rose stopped for a moment and turned her head to look at him carefully. His fur was still unclean. Spots were still matted down with small splashes of blood, both his own and not. A glimmer of a proud smile flashed on her face before she went back to face Dusknoir again. "He did better than I thought he would," she told him.

"Put in a few good hits," Pyro threw in.

"But I still lost," Riley bitterly muttered. He clenched his fists as visions of that Sneasel popped into his head.

"Oh, just _relax_ ," Rose demanded. "You're not gonna win every single one."

"Yeah, but… I was _this_ close!" He held his fingers against each other, pressing firmly and defeating the point of the phrase.

"Then just get out there next time and get it done," the Grass-type said. "Do I need to start reading off motivational quotes?"

"No," Riley sighed.

"Good," she huffed.

"Am I interrupting something…?" Dusknoir asked awkwardly.

"Pretty sure we're done here," Pyro shrugged.

"Ah, good. Dawn will come quicker than you'd think, so you should get some rest for tomorrow," the Ghost-type warned.

"Working on it." Rose rolled her eyes and continued forward. Dusknoir politely opened the door and let the Grass-type through, followed by the Charmander almost immediately behind her. And as Riley finished the line off, Dusknoir gave him two quick, comforting pats on the head. He shirked them off and hurried inside to the ladder in the corner of the cabin.

Things were still on the lower level of the guild. No one so much as stirred under the soft light emanating from the smooth, fantastical stones that dug into the ceiling. A series of snores from all over the spectrum filled the silence. Rose pointed into the mess hall with her blue floral hand and told Riley to go inside. He nodded out of obligation and did as he was told.

Most of the stone lights were turned off, and the mess hall was dimly illuminated by the few that remained on in the kitchen. Shadows of the three cooks sat around a small table as one of them dealt out a deck of cards. Peering over the buffet-like counter, Riley saw them for the first time: a Simisage, Simipour and Simisear. Their aprons draped over the back of their chairs, white fabric covered in a thousand faded stains like a Picasso painting run through the wash.

"I'll raise ya fifty," Simisear challenged. He put his hand in the middle and dropped five coins into a mound of Poke.

"Sixty," Simisage challenged back, tossing carelessly six coins into the center.

Simipour paused for a moment and ground his teeth together before slamming his hand into the table. "Fold," he grumbled.

Simisear, hiding a faint smile, tossed in another ten Poke coin. He stared at Simisage. Simisage stared back. And in the blink of an eye, they revealed their hands like cowboys drawing their colts. They carefully studied each other's cards silently, letting the tension build between them. And then, as a smile sprouted across the Grass-type's face, the Fire-type growled as he dropped the cards on the table.

" _Dammit!_ " he cried, bits of flame spewing from his mouth.

" _Thank_ you very much," Simisage grinned. He extended his arm out and pulled the pot towards him.

"Hello?" Riley called from the mess hall. Three sets of eyes fell upon him, boring into him their demands for an explanation to his presence. "We got here late and missed dinner, so… I was told that you'd give us something to eat?"

"Yeah, I got ya'. Ain't like I'm in the damn _game_ no more," Simisear muttered bitterly. Simisage snickered as the Fire-type stood up and made his way towards a large cauldron. "You're with Hellraisers, right? Three bowls?"

"Yeah, three." _He has us memorised?_ Riley observed.

"Got it." With one hand, Simisear grabbed a bowl the size of a halved coconut, and with the other he dipped a long-handled ladle deep into the cauldron. He put two ladlefuls into the bowl and placed it in a small wireframe holder beneath a small pile of sap-covered wood scraps. And with a snap of his fingers, they ignited. He did this twice more, and then leaned against the kitchen counter as the soup began to heat. "So, yer the new kid?" he asked.

"That's me." Riley nodded in confirmation as he mirrored Simisear and leaned against one of the mess hall tables.

"Just went on yer first mission, eh?" Simisear laughed quietly.

"Yeah," Riley exhaled. "It went… Not great."

"Failed, did ya?"

"Well, not exactly, b-"

"Oh, so you got the reward?" Simisear's eyes lit up and he leaned forward. "Then… would you mind lending me a hundred Poke or so? I promise you'll get it back."

"Don't do it, kid," Simipour shouted from the table. "It'll all get burnt up in one hand."

"Oh, _piss_ off," Simisear growled.

Riley shrugged. "Rose has it."

"Ah, damn…" Simisear shook his head and leaned back once again. He took a small spoon into his hand and stirred the three bowls. "Ya might wanna clean yerself up when ya get the chance. The blood n' mud don't fit in well around here."

"If I wasted any more time I wouldn't be back until midnight," Riley defended

"If you can't get help from one of the Guildmembers, there's a small river just east here. We have an image to maintain." Simisage offered before turning back to his game. "Raise you twenty."

"Thirty," Simipour countered, tossing three coins into the center.

Simisear removed the small spoon from one of the bowls and then placed it into his mouth. He quizzically raised a brow before casually shrugging and tossing it into the sink. "Warm enough," the Fire-type said, bending down to blow out the flames. He then, one by one, carefully took them into his hands and placed them on the buffet-style serving counter. "Don't spill any. It's kitchen policy not to waste any food." Riley nodded a thanks and meticulously began to take the three. Two were cradled between his right arm and his chest while a third was held in his left paw.

As he left the mess hall, he couldn't help but to notice a thin sliver of light cast across the main room. What seemed like sunlight split the dimly lit room in half. The Riolu's curious gaze looked to its source: the door to Gallade's office, just barely ajar. And standing behind it in the shadows, Kirlia stood locked in place. Their eyes met.

Riley was about to say something, but before he could do anything more than begin to twitch his lips, Kirlia pointed his slender arm directly at the Fighting-type. And just like that, he was frozen in the clutch of his Psychic. With a stern, threatening gaze, Kirlia put a single finger against pursed lips. A few seconds later, Kirlia lowered his arm, and Riley stood just as still as he did.

"I know, you're right," sighed the voice of Gallade. "These aren't soldiers, they're kids… but…"

"Don't say it," the rugged voice of Rhyperior warned. "Don't you say it. I don't wanna hear it."

"And neither do they. But give it enough time, and they won't have a choice anymore," Gallade countered.

"Speculation isn't enough reason to take the fuckin' leap out into the middle of the damn desert," Rhyperior spat.

"History repeats itself. If we don't go soon, we'll be giving up our last hope." They could hear the tension in Gallade's firm voice. "Scizor needs us, alright? He needs _us_."

"And who are we gonna send, huh?" Rhyperior challenged. "We gonna walk all the way up there? Form a small army?"

"No, of course not… just some mild support. Get some of our veterans, maybe," Gallade pondered.

"So you admit that the kids won't be able to fight this, yet you're still going to do something that will involve the entire fucking _Guild?!_ " The Rock-type's voice roared like thunder.

"Listen to m-... Damn it, you left the door open." As he heard the _creak_ of Gallade's chair, Kirlia reacted quickly. He placed his hands together and performed a Teleport, warping right behind Riley. Then he put a hand on Riley's shoulder and used a second Teleport. Gallade pushed open the door just a bit more, letting his gaze sweep across the now empty room. With a faint smile, he dragged it closed, and the two outside were no longer able to hear their conversation continue.

"The hell was that about?" asked a puzzled Riley.

Kirlia paused for a moment before hesitantly giving him an answer. "Keep quiet about it, but they got a mission request from Scizor," he whispered.

"Who?"

"Remember the whole thing that Gallade said this morning? About Lake Purity, and Implentur?"

"Yeah, I think so." He couldn't forget a stupid name like that.

"Scizor's… I guess you'd say he's taking charge of the rebellion there," Kirlia summarized.

"And, he's asking for our help?" Riley's eyes lit up. He nearly spilt the soup onto the floor.

"What, are you planning on breaking the rules?" Kirlia raised a single hand, forming a faint glow around it.

If his arms weren't full he would have folded them across his chest. Instead Riley cocked a brow and shifted his weight onto his right leg. "Isn't that what you were planning on doing? Or was there some _other_ reason you stood outside his door like that?"

Kirlia's hand trembled. He muttered obscenities and the glow intensified, but a second later, he sighed with defeat and lowered his hand. "You really _are_ smarter than you look," he admitted, somewhat reluctantly but somewhat threateningly. Both hostile and proud in one breath. "What're you gonna do about it?"

"Tag along," Riley shrugged. A spoonful of soup spilled onto the floor in his carelessness.

"And suppose I say no?"

"Then I'll tell them where you went."

For an instant, the glow was back, pulsing from Kirlia's clenched fist. For a fraction of a second Riley could feel gravity increase, like he was standing at the bottom of a lake, yet just as quickly as it sprang up the feeling vanished. Kirlia's lips pulled back in a humorless smile. "I never thought you'd have the guts to blackmail me… Very well. So long as you stay quiet about it, you may tag along." Riley began to cry out in excitement, but Kirlia spoke again to silence him. "On Friday nights a caravan heads up from here to Wrytsberg as part of a larger shipping industry. And lucky us: it's Friday. They're loading up right now in a warehouse next to a chain-inn just down the street from the Express Travel. Be there before midnight."

An eager Riley was only able to frantically nod in response.

"Good… I hope you know what you're getting into here." And with nothing else, Kirlia took his hand off of Riley's shoulder and enveloped himself in another Teleport, vanishing from sight. The flicker of his reappearance shone from the end of the third tunnel. With a grin the Riolu hurried carefully to his room, where his two teammates were holding a casual conversation. Rose noticed him enter out of the corner of her eye.

"Oh, you're back," she observed. "You get held up on the way?"

"Little bit, yeah." Riley placed the two bowls in front of his teammates and then raised the third in front of his face. "Ran into Kirlia on the way back." He took a small sip of the salted potato soup.

" _Kirlia?_ " Rose sneered. The word burned her tongue as she spat it out.

"Yeah. And actually, we got a mission from him," Riley continued. "Remember the thing Gallade was talking about this morning?"

"No," she interjected.

"Well, he gave a speech ab-"

"I know what you meant." Rose sighed in annoyance. "We're not going to a damn warzone. We'd _die_ out there."

"Bu-"

"There are no _buts_ here," Pyro warned. His usual kind warmth felt cold and unwelcoming. "Have you ever looked behind the halved-hill of the guild? Seen how barren it is? Devoid of plant life? Sheer cliffs? Tall, warped stone pillars? They call that the Scablands. _That's_ the scale we're looking at here. The effects of this are going to be scarred into the face of the planet."

"...Really?" asked a bewildered Riley.

"I'll let you pick something off the board tomorrow," Rose offered, "but damn it, I'm not letting you rush into your own death while I'm here."

Riley huffed and plopped down on his pile of hay. "You said that earlier," he mumbled into his soup. A few pieces of meat and vegetables slid down his tongue, giving him an odd mix of smoky and sweet flavor. He got the impression that it was reused from another meal.

"Then don't make me have to repeat myself," she scoffed. The Grass-type shook her head and raised her bowl, muttering "Christ, I sound like his _mother_ ," before taking a big swig.

The Charmander reached over for the gameboard and awkwardly gestured it towards the two. A few seconds went by, and the tension had worn down to a manageable level. He and the Roselia sat across from each other and set up the pieces. A short while later, the game ended, and the three went off to bed without incident.

…

He knew not when it was, but it had most likely been over an hour since Riley laid down in his pile of hay that was his bed. His restless eyes wandered about the room as he listened to the collective snores of the surrounding Pokemon. A dim light from the overhead lights in the hall just cast a dim light through the near-empty room.

And it was sometime around then when Riley finally heard it: a heavy exhale out of the Roselia's lips, followed by a deep inhale. He slowly and cautiously pushed himself _slightly_ up, and craned his neck to peer out at her. Rose had her eyes closed, and her form was motionless except for the gentle rise and fall of her chest. Carefully, he turned his gaze over to the Charmander curled up on the stone floor. His maw was buried between his arms, and his tail burned weakly a few inches from his face. Again, eyes closed, and chest rising and falling.

"Hey," he called just above a whisper. Seconds passed with no answer. They didn't so much as stir. Riley propped himself up and alternated his gaze between them. He silently reached for his bag, moving it slowly so its contents wouldn't smack together, and then tiptoed out of the room.

With this new, lighter body, he was much faster than he was instinctively used to without creating as much of a ruckus. What would have been heavy footprints were soft and muffled taps that the ear could barely register. But even still, he felt his heart stop with every door he passed by in his rush out. Each one held the possibility of someone groggily standing up to use the restroom, or something to drink. Maybe someone was still awake in there. Game of cards, reading a book, any number of things he had not yet come to know. In a frantic, light-footed dash, he burst out of the hallway and came to a grinding halt in the main room, nearly tumbling over.

Riley caught his breath as quietly as he could manage as he anxiously looked behind him. Yet again, there was nothing. He laughed at himself and draped his bag over his shoulder. "Alright," he pushed himself. "Time to get out of here." He hurried over to the ladder and began to rapidly climb up it.

Once his head peaked out into the top floor of the guild, he was instantly reminded of his final two obstacles: Dusknoir, who watched the outside, and Blaziken, asleep in her bed. No blanket covered her sleeping form, and a pillow propped her head up just so that if she woke up, she could stare down her nose to catch the Riolu sneaking a glance. And who knows what she'd do…

Out the window, he could see the top of Dusknoir's antennae sticking up from the lower right corner. The front door was open ajar and let in a brisk breeze. And based on the angle the antennae was facing, Dusknoir appeared to be turned away from it. Though slim, this was the only moment he had.

Riley leapt off the ladder and quietly made his way over to the door, carefully looking through the open sliver. Indeed, the Ghost-type was turned the other way, staring up at the moon as he floated in place. An odd melancholic aura hung about him. The Riolu took a minute to think this out. The path directly from the cabin into town wouldn't work, for it would be much too easy for Dusknoir to notice him. And the idea of incapacitating wasn't even worth a second thought. So, he would have to go around.

With a deep but silent exhale, Riley crept out of the narrow crack between the door and the doorway. And to his luck, this small body didn't make any noticeable noise. He froze on the porch, and stared into Dusknoir's back. Nothing. The mouth on his rotund stomach was open through a faint sliver, and his deep, almost haunting voice hummed a beautifully haunting lullaby. To whom or for what, he didn't know. But it granted him an escape.

His feet pressed against the porch, leaping back with a Quick Attack. And the moment they made contact with the ground, he regained his balance and ran two steps to his right, hiding behind the wall. He held his breath. Nothing still. Just like that, he was in the clear.

About a hundred feet past the cabin, the hill was suddenly cut off. Literally. The jagged face of a sheer cliff lead down to a barren flatland of stone and dirt. Twisted pillars of rock stuck out of the ground like ballista shots from some great siege. The Scablands. Riley thought back to what Pyro said earlier. " _That's the scale we're looking at here. The effects of this are going to be scarred into the face of the planet_." The whole thing looked to be another world, like someone had whittled away at the first layer of reality to bring forth the face of a new plane. _This…_ His lips curled into another grin. _This is so gonna be worth it_. Eagerly, he fumbled into his bag and pulled out an Iron Thorn, no more than six inches long.

Without hesitation, he ran forward and dove off the side of the cliff. Air rushed past him like a mighty gale pushing against the Riolu, as if trying to bring the stupid child back up. But the ol' reaper Gravity kept him in her cold clutches, dragging him further and further down. And Riley had no objections to this. It was only through sheer will that he didn't begin to cheer and holler in his excitement. He could just imagine himself as a hero dropping down from above, his red scarf trailing behind him in the wind. And when he would land with a thunderous quake, he would emerge from a cloud of dust without so much as a limp.

He broke out of his fantasy about a hundred feet above the ground, and he fiercely dug the Iron Thorn into the cliff wall. It jammed in nearly down to the hilt and left a large gash as it slowed the Riolu down, spraying stone shards everywhere. But it only held for a good five seconds before snapping in half, leaving Riley to plummet the remaining fifty feet. He could barely get out half of an obscenity before landing on his stomach. Upon impact, his muzzle opened wide and he coughed out a mist of spittle as his breath left him. But to his surprise, that was all. At most, it would have left a good bruise on him. Not only was he alive, but he was uninjured. Only the wind was knocked out of him. Chuckling at his own recklessness, he slowly stood up with a paw over his stomach and began walking into town.

…

Just down the street from the Express Travel place, there was another _Sleeping Stallion_ , just like the one in Knowall Town. Below the sign it had _Inn and Tavern_ on a stylized scroll beneath the silhouette of what appeared to be a Rapidash. Presuming this to be the chain-inn, Riley took a deep breath and entered the front door.

The lobby, if you would call it that, was just a tavern, and a surprisingly empty one at that. Behind the counter stood a Carnivine on their night shift, who was spending their time cleaning out some mugs with a wet cloth. A chandelier hung down from the ceiling, casting the light of several dozen candles through the tavern. The only two patrons inside were a Luxio and a Buizel sitting in the back. Simultaneously, their gazes set upon Riley the moment he walked in.

"Uh, hey." Riley waved to them, unsure.

"Kirlia's upstairs," Buizel told him, nodding towards the stairway. "Talking out our travel plans."

"Oh! You're his teammates?" Riley surmised, confidence restored.

"Yup," answered Luxio, who sat on his hind legs. "Gotta admit, I didn't expect you to show up here."

"There's no way I'd pass this up," Riley proclaimed, somewhat defensively.

"No,I- it wasn't meant like that," the Electric-type attempted to apologize. "I don't have a problem with you being here, but… well, when Kirlia told me that a rookie was gonna be tagging along, I didn't believe him."

"Refer to earlier statement," the Fighting-type demanded, arms crossed.

Buizel chuckled at a joke only he got. "I like this kid," he stated. "Let's hope his spunk doesn't get him killed." Riley rolled his eyes in annoyance. How many times had he heard that by now?

"Then he better take these," Luxio added. He dug his face into his bag and pulled out a tiny scrap of cloth wrapped and tying itself closed, and then placed it carefully on the table. Anticipating Riley's quizzical reaction, Luxio began to explain. "They're Reviver Seeds," he said. "Bite into one when you take too much of a beating. The juices inside will revitalize you and give you the energy to keep going. But, they're not magical cure-alls. All you'll do is numb the pain and get a second wind. Got it?"

"Yeah," said a befuddled Riley. He tilted his head as he walked towards the cloth wrapping, feeling three or four seeds underneath the fabric. "Thanks for these. They sound amazing."

"Figured you'd need them more than I would," Luxio shrugged.

"The hell happened to you?" Buizel asked, gesturing to the multiple patches of dirtied fur.

"Hm? Oh, I didn't clean up after I came back," Riley answered. The Water-type sighed. He picked up a washcloth and placed it on his mouth, letting forth a small gush of a Water Gun. Then, wringing out some of the excess water, he tossed it to the Riolu.

"Clean yourself up," Buizel ordered. "Make yourself look nice and pretty." Unsure of what to say, Riley scrubbed out the dried blood and dirt, and then tossed it back to the Water-type. Buisel moved his head out of the way and let it _splat_ against the floor behind him. Riley nodded a thank you, and Buizel waved his paw to dismiss the matter.

It was right about then when Kirlia emerged from the top floor, descending the stairs. "Well, you're here. I'd put my bets on you getting caught by Dusknoir."

"Snuck out the back," Riley admitted.

"We don't… you _dropped_ off the cliff in the back?!" Luxio exclaimed. Buizel erupted into a fit of laughter.

"He would've caught me if I didn't," he attempted to justify. "It _was_ fun, though."

Kirlia opened his mouth to say something, but he wasn't sure what to say, so he shook his head in defeat. "Not gonna question it. You're here. Good enough for me." He turned towards his partners. "You give him the seeds?"

"Yup," Buizel answered simply.

"Good. Chatot is just finishing up some paperwork. Give her five minutes." Kirlia cracked his neck and sat down between his teammates. His red eyes met Riley's, and he gestured for him to sit across from him. Riley did so. "So, tell me. Why did you decide to tag along?"

"Why did _you_ decide to go in the first place?" Riley raised a brow as he leaned back in a chair too big for him.

"Someone had to do it," Kirlia shrugged. "And I'm strong enough to survive out there, at least. But _you_ … Well, answer the question."

"Because, it… it seemed exciting." His eyes met the floor, and a dumb smile began to sprout across his face. "I know I'm not the strongest, putting it lightly, but… This is such a huge scale, y'know? I want to see what's out there."

Kirlia closed his eyes and smugly laughed. "You're still so young at heart… be careful what you wish for."

"What, and you're just doing this because ' _someone had to_ '?" Riley scoffed, offended.

For an instant, those red eyes flared at Riley, igniting in some hellish flame fueled by a burst of hatred and contempt. The Riolu was taken aback, not just from the ferocity of his stare, but from how swiftly he snapped out of it. Kirlia had been replaced by an identical duplicate, eyes closed and arms up in a smug and friendly shrug, caught in his white lie.

"I suppose it won't hurt to be honest," Kirlia said, somewhat coy. "It's a similar reason as yours, I guess. The ' _scale_ ', as you put it, is greater than what you'd find from any mission on the boards. And I wanna see how I stand up against it. Luckily, these two agreed."

"Not like we had a choice," Buizel yawned.

"But, I want to make myself clear," Kirlia continued. Riley sat as properly in his chair as he could and looked back to the Psychic-type. "You're responsible for yourself here. The seeds will save your ass if you need it. I'm not slowing down to save you… but, if by some miracle you _do_ make it back alive, you are to say _nothing_ of this, got it? If anyone finds out because of you…" His eyes opened, and his chin rested upon his folded hands propped up by his elbows on the table. And the intensity in his voice grew ten-fold. It almost sounded as if he began salivating. "I will pull you inside-out through your throat."

The Riolu froze for a minute. His eyes had grown wider than what had been thought physically possible as they stared back into the vibrant red, unwavering eyes of the Pokemon across from him. They didn't burn like the hellfire infernos from a moment ago, but… it was still the same fire. Focused and dim, like the lit end of twin cigarettes. "... Understood," Riley managed to say, after several tense seconds.

"Sorry for the wait," called a Chatot from the stairway. The four looked up to see the dainty Flying-type lazily gliding down the stairs. "Had to get a few technicalities out of the way, now that I'm towing passengers."

"Thank you for the effort." Kirlia stood up out of his chair and bowed to his escort gracefully.

"Don't mention it," she waved away. "Four from the back, there's room for you guys in there. You might have to move a box or two."

"What, no passenger's cart?" Luxio wondered aloud.

"Afraid not. I just hire a few Pokemon in town to help unload. There isn't really a need yet for a passenger's cart," Chatot explained. "Now, I hate to do this to you, but I have a schedule to keep. So do you mind if we get going?"

"Not at all," Kirlia smiled. "You have a schedule to keep. We understand."

"Hold up a damn second!" bellowed a voice from the entrance. Everyone (including the bartender Carnivine who had been trying not to eavesdrop) turned towards the open doorway, and there waiting for them was the seething silhouette of a Roselia, illuminated by the flame of a Charmander's tail.

"Oh, hell," Riley groaned, burying his face in his palm.

"That's right, you son of a _bitch!_ " The Grass-type stormed in. Her floral hands tightly wrung into themselves and formed a cone. "' _Oh, hell_. I almost walked into certain death.'"

"I'm tired of hearing that _crap_ ," Riley snapped. He glared at Rose with his fangs bared. "Don't tell me what I can and can't do."

"Is everything alright?" asked Luxio, out of formality if anything else.

"Oh, no. Everything's _juuuust_ fine," she exclaimed quizaciously. "You three can go on to the damned warzone if you want. But I'm n-"

"You don't have to pretend like I'm your responsibility!" Riley barked. "You barely even _know_ me!"

An appalled Roselia withdrew with a gasp. Pyro rushed to her aid and took a single aggressive step in front of her. "You don't even know _yourself!_ " spat the Fire-type, spewing a cloud of sparks.

"I hate to cut this short," Kirlia interjected, "but we have to leave now. Right, Chatot?"

"Err… y-y-yeah," the Flying-type said awkwardly.

"Then we'll be on our way," Pyro growled. He reached out his claw and grabbed Riley by the wrist. The Fighting-type yanked his arm out of his grasp and held it defensively to his chest.

"I'm going with them," Riley snarled.

"Oh, for _fuck's_ sake!" Kirlia growled. He raised his hand out towards the three members of Team Hellraisers and clutched them in a Psychic. The three spun towards him frozen in their hostile poses like toy figurines, their still eyes set on Kirlia's. The Psychic-type's eyes overcome with purple hue as he overcame them with a Hypnosis. Simultaneously, three sets of eyelids became heavy, and unable to fight it, they dropped down and locked them in their hibernation. He lowered his arm, and the three small Pokemon crumpled to the floor like dolls.

"Damn it, Kirlia!" Luxio yelled. He scrambled out of his chair and stood over the three fallen Pokemon.

"Their bickering was annoying," Kirlia justified. "We didn't have time for them to scream back and forth… Just grab them and take them to the back."

"Wait, what?" exclaimed Buizel, tuning back in.

"They'd rat us out if we left them behind." Kirlia's gaze stabbed into the two new arrivals. "Chatot, mind taking two more?" Out of his Explorer's bag levitated fifteen shining gold coins, glimmering in the torchlight.

"I don't see why not," she shrugged, hiding a guilty smile. The coins all clanged together as they snapped into a neat and orderly column like obedient soldiers, and then sat on the table. Shaking his head in shame, Luxio picked up the Charmander gently by his shoulder and draped him over his back.

"And you," Kirlia said with a surprising calmness about him. His gaze set upon the Carnivine who meekly kept his head down. "Keep quiet about this, okay?" Behind his collected facade, his voice carried just a hint of an unimaginable threat. Carnivine weakly nodded. Kirlia flashed a simper and picked up the Riolu in yet another Psychic as he walked out the doors of the _Sleeping Stallion_.


	8. Chapter 8: A New Scale

Darkness. A sea of ceaseless black surrounded the entity known as Riley, churning and swarming like a viscous torrent. He was bound and frozen by it all as it pressed down on him with the force of the entire world. Through the swirling ocean of black he could not see himself. Through the immense pressure of the swarm he could not feel himself. He felt as if he were trapped in the center of a black hole.

A moment passed, and through the gargled rumbles of the darkness Riley could hear… beeping. Rhythmic, short chirps came in from the left, unending. He tried to turn towards it, but his body was still unresponsive… No. No, that wasn't quite it. It was more as if he hadn't a body at all, and just a packed ball of his senses.

Another muffled sound pierced through: a brief _thud_ of a door closing, and the latching of the knob snapping closed. Footsteps; slow, somber, nearing. They stopped after what felt like minutes somewhere in front of him. And then… an irregular rising and falling pitch that made a variety of different sounds. A voice. Though he didn't recognize it, something about it made Riley feel uncomfortable. Unsafe.

"Can't believe it," said the voice. It was deep but held back- a man putting on a facade. And though he didn't know what it was, Riley was scared of what was behind it. It was an instinctive fear, in the same way a child is afraid of what resides in the corners masked by shadows.

"They said it was a miracle," said another, this one feminine. The feelings Riley got from her wasn't nearly as strong, but there were two of them that made their presence known: relief, and awkwardness.

"Oh, _yeah_. Praise God that he's still alive and sustained with cash running through his veins!" the man scowled.

"Hank, don't talk like that!" the woman snapped.

"What, do _you_ have an idea to keep him kicking?" the man apparently dubbed Hank barked. "Gonna start whoring yourself out?"

"We could-... What's that smell?" she asked. "Christ, are you _drunk?!_ "

"So what if I am?"

"You can't just- just-" She paused to collect herself and took a deep breath. "Four days," she started. "For four days, he's been laying here waiting, an-"

"And whose fault is that?!" Hank snarled.

"You don't mean that," she claimed boldly.

The two entities continued to bicker for a long while, delving into a variety of subjects. Minutes passed of accusations, growing louder and louder as Riley could only be there, trapped within his own thoughts. So many questions, and only speculation for answers. And many times, especially when their argument broke into shouting, the rumbling blackness would intensify, writhing around him and drowning out several phrases. But eventually, there was a second, louder _thud_ , and another entity entered.

"Will you two be _quiet?!_ " the third one demanded sternly. Another man, but not as deep as the one dubbed Hank. "Not everyone needs to hear your dispute. Please, be considerate tow-... is that a flask?"

Two quick footsteps as the first man turned around. He said nothing.

"Sir, alcohol isn't allowed in here. I'm going to have to ask you to leave," the second pushed.

"Who's gonna make me?" Hank challenged.

"If you don't vacate the premises, then security will," the second answered. There was a long, tense moment of silence between them. Then came a grumble, followed by heavy footsteps leading further and further away.

"I'm so sorry about that," the woman said.

"Are you not going with him?" the other asked.

"I will in a minute, but…" She paused. Riley heard a few quick sobs before she spoke again, her voice trembling. "I just need to know i-" The deafening wrathful writhing of the darkness overcame his senses and drowned out her voice. It was like being attacked by static. "-be okay," she finished. Back to a comparatively calm flow, like a babbling brook.

"He's stable, at least," the man consoled. "But that's about all I can say. He isn't tipping in either direction. We'll have to keep him here for a while longer."

"But…! Doctor Grant, you don't understand. We won't be ab-" The static swarmed again. This time it was even louder- overwhelming, even. Even his own thoughts were drowned out. Pressure had become so intense that he knew he no longer had a body, for if he did it would have been crushed by now. And it didn't calm down this time. Louder and louder, harder and harder, faster and faster, constricting around him like a serpent. The two entities conversing, the one dubbed Hank that had presumably left, the metronomic chirping to his left, the entire world beyond him (if that is in fact what it was) may as well have vanished. It was just him and the swarm of whatever the hell it was. And what felt like an eternity later, there wasn't even that much. A faint light shone during the middle of it. Miniscule, almost unnoticeable. Like a distant, distant star. But almost the instant that it appeared, the darkness suddenly snapped.

…

There aren't many times when one will jump out of sleep outside of infancy. Nightmares are few and far between for most, and even then not every single one is terrifying enough to get a physical reaction of the body. But this was, despite its lack of any actual terror, one of the few.

Riley jolted out of his slumber with a panicked gasp. Or rather, half a gasp. As he swung his upper-body up, his head banged against a crate that hung over the smaller crate that supported it. His forehead smacked into the bottom edge of it, and with an almost cartoonish _oof_ he limply fell back onto the floor.

Groaning, he opened his eyes slowly. He was in the back of a wagon, nearly identical to the ones he had seen yesterday, though these were a bit longer. Laying across from him were his two teammates. Pyro was splayed out on the floor with his right arm pinned underneath him as if lazily thrown in, while Rose had been placed against the wall. _The hell…?_ he thought to himself, raising a paw to his forehead. _Where are-_ Before he could even make the request, the events of last night came back to him. What Gallade had said, Kirlia's offer, sneaking out over the cliff, Rose and Pyro freaking out over it and trying to drag him back, Kirlia dealing with the problem in his own way…

 _Oh, yeah,_ he thought. His gaze narrowed as he sat himself up (avoiding the edge of the crate). Now calmed comparatively, in the bit of his gut Riley felt a dense clump of guilt. Maybe he had gone too far last night, but that didn't give them the right to pretend to be his guardians. Equally as heavy as the guilt was an ember of anger in his chest. As he shook his head he silently stood up and walked towards the back door, overcome with the need for some fresh air.

Through a thin crack in the door, Riley snuck out and lulled it back closed like a father trying not to wake his child. And with a Quick Attack he jumped up to the roof, and then just sort of stood there for a minute. The cool air rushed briskly past and around him. Wind pulled at his scarf and let it billow and wave behind him. He took a sharp inhale of the crisp morning air. _One… two… three…_ A warm breath rushed out of his barely opened opened his eyes.

A mere few days ago, he was birthed into the world bordered by a sea of waving grass and a wall of pointed mountains on the other like the bottom jaw of a colossal beast. And now, behind him were rolling hills of green and trees, from thick forests to specks here and there, and as the hills all began to slope up there were just single pines jutting out of the dirt. Ahead of him, however, were those same mountains. They blocked out the sky with their might. Snow capped the summits and trails snaked upwards and vanished amongst the impossibly grand geography. And while the monumental natural spires lined down from horizon to horizon, the two directly ahead of him were something different altogether. Between these two, there was a variety of buildings based on artificially carved terrace into the sides of the mountain. Even from what must have been dozens of miles away, there were massive silhouettes of windmills with the sun at their backs. The blades spun proportionately slow, but… from the sheer _size_ of them they must have been going fast enough to cleave into the stone colossi. Whatever this place was, it seemed so out of place compared to everything else he had seen thus far. Part of him thought he had gone into another world altogether.

Riley stood in place for what felt like minutes with his jaw hanging open. He could only make dry, faint gasps as his eyes studied the architecture from afar. In the dawn he could see a thousand lights in the terraces climbing further and further up the mountains. They didn't flicker and dance like torches normally would. These were still. Constant. Efficient. But, before he could make out anything more, Riley heard the faint sound of the door latching shut below. He counted six light footsteps, followed by a brief sigh.

"Why are you doing this?" Rose asked. Riley didn't even need to turn around to know who it was.

"You're awake," Riley observed. Rose said nothing; just stood there with her arms folded as she waited for an answer. A heavy sigh escaped his lips as he tried to properly phrase his thoughts. "Can you see what's ahead of us?" he asked.

Raising a brow, the Grass-type climbed up a heavy-duty ladder just to the left of the door. Her head peeked over the roof, and she stopped when her eyes met with the impossibly grand architecture between the mountains. "What, you mean Wrytsberg?" she asked.

"See? To you, this is just one word. You've seen it already. It's nothing out of the ordinary," the Riolu claimed. He paused for a moment. "But, look at all these for a moment. Someone out there built these. I'm sorry for what I said last night. Really, I am. It's just, there's all this stuff out here I haven't seen. Someone was able to shape these mountains to support a city. Someone was able to scar the land behind the Guild. There's so much here..." Though she couldn't see them, the Riolu's red eyes gleamed.

"And you would have seen it soon enough, if you waited at most a week." Rose rolled her eyes. Riley clenched a fist as that ember of anger flared up in his chest again. He stamped a foot on the ground and just began to pivot around, but Rose continued. "But… we _are_ already almost there. So if it'll shut you up about wanting to go out there… I _guess_ I'll let you have your fun."

The Riolu froze upon these words. In the back of his mind, there was a skeptical portion of him remaining who compared this statement from the ones from last night. She was enraged that Riley had ran away in the middle of the night, screaming loud enough to wake up the whole town. But before this small part could begin to ponder why she made this change, the rest of him took over. He spun around and met her gaze. Rose had her brow furrowed just so as she finished climbing up the ladder, and her teeth pressed together behind her lips.

"Really?" Riley exclaimed in his bewilderment.

"Just don't make me regret this," she sighed.

In a rush of excitement, a grinning Riley lunged forward and brought his arms around the tiny Grass-type. "Oh, thank y- OW!" Immediately he pulled back and clutched his forearm within his paw. With a gasp Rose retracted her small body away from the Riolu and brought her arms together to her chest.

"Christ, I- I'm so sorry!" she blurted out. "I- it's- P-Poison Point," she stammered.

"It… I-it's fine," Riley said through gritted teeth. His arm had begun to grow cold.

"I didn't…" She shook her head and reached into her bag, removing a Pecha Berry from it and handing it towards the Fighting-type. Riley reached out for it and placed it between his teeth. They bit down and released a small rush of the antitoxic juice through his mouth. In a matter of seconds, the poison had gone away, like it had never happened.

"Does this usually happen?" he asked as he shook his arm to ensure that it was in fact in working order. It was.

"...Yeah," she meekly answered. "Most of the time…" She put a floral hand between them and again shook her head. "Look, can we just drop this?"

"Sure, no problem."

"Thanks."

A moment passed between them. Everything remained at an uncomfortable quiet. Riley turned back to the path ahead of them and gazed upon the massive city and all its grandeur. His mouth silently formed the word Rose had so casually tossed out just earlier: _Wrytsberg_. Another pause. "Really though," Riley continued. "Thanks for this. It… it means a lot."

"Yeah, well…" Rose shifted her weight to her left leg and threw up her floral hands. "You're taking the blame for this when we get back."

"Only fair," Riley supposed. "You gonna tell Pyro, or should I?"

"He'll take it better from me," the Grass-type answered.

"Good luck," Riley waved. "I'm gonna go try and find Kirlia."

"Hit him for me when you find him," she bitterly told him. Riley just nodded as she made her way down the ladder.

He took a breath and began making his way forward, pressing through the wind. Each time he reached a gap he would spring off the ground with a Quick Attack, clearing it with relative ease and landing with a bit more speed than what he started with. By his sixth jump Riley was sprinting, and he didn't even need the conjuration of a Quick Attack to reach the next roof. At the leading wagon, he landed on the top and came to a grinding halt, staggering a few steps forward and catching himself on his front paws.

"Up already?" called a voice. Riley turned around to find, no one. With a brow raised he turned around again, and still he couldn't see anyone there. The voice chuckled. "Down here," he called. Riley took a few steps back towards the gap he just leapt over, and leaning against the wall sat Buizel. His eyes were barely open, and a tired smile spread across his face.

"Yup," Riley answered simply.

"Ran all the way up here." Buizel chuckled again. "Really didn't wanna hash it out with them, eh?"

"No, no. I talked to Rose about it. She's calmed down," Riley explained. "Right now she's talking to Pyro."

For a moment, Buizel's smile faltered. His eyelids withdrew and scrunched up beneath his brow, and his twin tails _thump-thumped_ on the wood beneath him. "Oh, geez," he groaned.

"What?" asked the curious Riolu. He took a step forward. "What is it?"

"I... don't think I'm supposed to tell you," the Water-type said hesitantly. The Riolu's gaze echoed his previous words. "When it's over, you can ask them," he suggested.

"C'mon, please?" Riley whined.

"Not gonna work on me," Buizel said sternly. "They're your own teammates. The least you can do is ask them yourself, if you really wanna know." The Fighting-type folded his arms and huffed. Buizel rolled his eyes and changed the subject. "Kirlia's at the front, if you wanna talk to him."

"Thanks," Riley half-grumbled-half-waved. He walked away from the Water-type and over to the other end of the wagon. There, on the platform in front of the door, and behind a squad of four Pokemon pulling the chain along (two Tauros behind a Rapidash and a Zebstrika), stood the Psychic-type. His legs were fully stretched out and pressed together, and his arms hung by his side. Riley hopped down to the platform only a few feet away from Kirlia, who didn't so much as flinch.

"Need anything?" he asked. His gaze was locked onto the massive city they were approaching.

"Rose told me to hit you for her," Riley stated. Kirlia didn't move. Seconds crawled by. _One… Two… Three… Four…_ Taking a step forward, the Riolu lightly swung a loosely clenched fist into Kirlia's shoulder. This managed to get his attention, at least, as he turned his head and stared at the alien fist-like creature, watching with shock and disbelief as it began to swing down from his thin shoulder to the Riolu's hip. "So, now that that's out of the way… I guess, thanks."

"For what?" Kirlia asked, squinting.

"It was a dick move, but putting us under Hypnosis kinda… cooled our heads." Riley paused and rubbed the nape of his neck. "I don't know what you did with that, but Rose calmed down about it."

"Don't thank me," Kirlia scoffed. He turned his gaze back ahead. "I didn't do anything. Hypnosis doesn't instill beliefs and thoughts into one's mind. All it does is just put someone to sleep. Nothing more, nothing less."

"Well…" Riley paused briefly. In the back of his mind, he had assumed that his suffocating dream had been caused by Kirlia's powers, somehow. That binding blackness was like nothing his own mind had conjured before, so… Well, it doesn't matter anymore. Whatever explanation he could have made up, Kirlia rejected any involvement. Riley put on a friendly smile and continued on. "Thanks anyways. If you just let things play out last night, I… I might not be on this caravan right now."

"And what a shame _that_ would be," Kirlia exhaled. Riley brought his fist back to give in jest another light punch, but… he froze. His gaze caught on a mess of red hanging right around Kirlia's right hand. There, the Psychic-type held a dagger. Not an Iron Thorn, but a full, sharp dagger. Dried blood veiled the steel, and the simple hilt was choked in Kirlia's fingers. A few specks and scribbles stained his wrist.

"What the hell?" Riley exclaimed. Kirlia's gaze shifted back, catching the Riolu staring at the weapon. He swallowed and pressed forward. "Why do you have a dagger?"

"Training," Kirlia answered.

"Training?"

"One day, I'll evolve. And when I do, I'll become a swordsmon," Kirlia explained. "So I'm training myself. I need to be ready for my Dawn Stone."

"Oh." It made sense, even if it was a bit jarring, but… Riley's stare focused in on the shade of red coating the edges. "And, the blood?" he asked.

"A few Wildies came and attacked us in the middle of the night," Kirlia shrugged. "And I just did what daggers are made to do."

"Guess I should've known," Riley mumbled. He shifted his weight to his right.

"If that's all you need, you can go lay down somewhere," Kirlia told him. "It'll be a few hours until we get there."

"Actually, there _is_ one thing," Riley interjected. Kirlia turned back towards the Fighting-type and, motionless, wordless, allowed him to continue. "I just wanna know why you brought me along."

"You would've snitched if I didn't," the Psychic-type told him.

"I thought we already established I'm not that stupid," Riley smirked. "You could've beaten me within an inch of my life without even straining yourself as a warning. Could've even killed me with that." He pointed to the dagger. Kirlia's grip around it noticeably tightened. "Even if you didn't want to leave evidence, you have Hypnosis. You could've left me behind and tossed me back in my room. Why didn't you?"

At first, nothing. Kirlia's face remained in its stone-stern state, permanently locked there by some hex. But a few seconds passed, and a crack formed in his mask. He smiled: thin at first, just a slight rise on the right side of his face, and then it snapped into a grin with a chortle bursting out of his mouth. The Psychic-type shook his head.

"I'll never underestimate you again," Kirlia admitted. "Alright. I'll tell you." Riley stepped forward and perked his ears. "It's because…" He moved his empty hand to his chin and fumbled around for the right phrase. "I guess, I'd say it's because you're intriguing to me."

"Wha…?" Riley tilted his head.

"I did what you told me to yesterday," Kirlia went on. "I went to Gallade's office and asked how you got _that_." He pointed to the scarf around Riley's neck, who looked down at it momentarily and put his paw against it. Still smooth, still warm. "I didn't get anything concrete, but… I don't think I've seen him look like that in a while. He… he _smiled_. Not his usual smile. Usually, it's diplomatic. Comforting but professional. But then, it was…" Kirlia's own smile faltered. His eyes stared intently at nothing. He whispered the final word: " _proud_."

Silence fell. Riley knew not what to say. Proud? Why proud? By yesterday morning, all he had done was wake up a few times in the infirmary and take a kick from that Nidorino. Admittedly, he couldn't yet claim to have earned that pride. Was it really pride that Kirlia saw? Because other than that, all he had really done was… be a human. Huh. After these past few days, Riley had almost forgotten. But still he didn't know why that would bring up pride.

Kirlia shook his head and returned from his hypnotic state. His gaze was more focused, and his smile had a rivalrous aura about it. "I guess I just want to see what he sees," Kirlia claimed. "So, don't disappoint me."

"Didn't plan on it," Riley answered, trying to sound as cool as possible. Kirlia merely nodded and stared ahead. Again, silence fell.

…

The sun beat down overhead that day on the fields of sand. Searing winds blew away thick clouds of dust from the remains of a once grand city half-buried. Former homes and shops and towers were now ruins of their former selves, skeletal remains of warriors and kings. Pieces of broken lives (plates, picture frames, furniture, cooking ware) stuck out of the ground like weapons in a vast, now barren battlefield.

It was not time that ruined this city, however. In fact its cause still remains inside the limits, amongst the charred pieces of broken buildings. Through stained, dusted streets there rang a roaring chorus of cries and steel melding together. Ruins and sand sponged up the blood with the thirst of those who once inhabited the sun-scorched lands.

It was on a fallen wall coated in a thin layer of dust that there stood an Aggron, far from the cries and clatter that surrounded him. Even for his species he was a behemoth, towering well over twelve feet and weighing at least a ton. His colossal tail swayed back and forth through the blazing gales, stirring the winds further with the sheer force of it. From underneath the brim of the steel plates protecting his eyes from the harsh sunlight, his bright blue eyes scanned the barren areas around him. Though almost unnoticeable to a casual observer, something stirred beneath the sands. The ground was shifting just so slightly as whatever its cause was circled around the Aggron as if it were its prey.

With the force and volume of a crack of thunder burst the predator from below the surface, spraying a shroud of sand and broken stone outwards. Aggron raised his arms to protect his eyes as out darted a mighty Steelix. The end of her tail, veiled in a coat of a hundred jagged Stone Edges, swung out of the ground and towards the opposing Steel-type. The titanic Aggron lunged into the attack, embracing the points of the make-shift morning star with his great arms. His heavy feet and tail dug into the stone and the sand beneath as he was pushed further and further back. Grunts escaped his clenched jaw, so tight that not even the cloud he kicked up could get through.

Before he even neared a stop, in came the great head of the Steelix. She bashed into the side of him like a warhammer. A raspy cough forced itself out of Aggron as the Stone Edges began burying themselves into his stone skin. Then like some giant's chain the Steelix continued to coil herself around the behemoth of an opponent, binding him within the masses of metal. He couldn't see the pleased smile on her face as she pulled tighter and tighter, jagged stones digging themselves deeper and deeper. A dry croak escaped his mouth as Aggron struggled against her. Steel scraped against steel as his twin horns scratched into her side, and his heavy tail repeatedly _thumped_ against the ground as he raised it.

"Finally caught you," she beamed. Her voice roared like a speeding train. "They're gonna be so relieved when I bring you in."

Aggron said nothing. His tail snaked its way between Steelix's coiling body and began attempting to pry her off, grunting like a struggling bear stuck in the teeth of a trap.

"Now now, there's no need for that," she playfully told him. "Just, come with me, and we'll make this easier on you." She lowered her head into the sands and tried to move forward, but she only made it a few feet before coming to a sudden stop, as if pulled by a leash. Confused, she turned back. The Aggron had his tail buried completely into the sand to anchor him in place. "What the… Not giving up, are you?" she sighed. "Fine then. Let's g-"

The Aggron broke one arm free from the giant's chain, bringing it out in the crack between the coils. He had what he needed, and deep down Steelix knew. A heavy breath escaped his open jaw. And after a sharp inhale, the one hulking arm swung down into one of the lower chunks of metal on Steelix's body. The force of an Earthquake concentrated into one fist shattered the segment, breaking off the last six feet of her tail. A cry of pain slipped out as a squirming Steelix retracted the rest of her away.

Panicking, she brought what was now the end of her tail to her face and stared at it analytically. Without its former length and design, it wouldn't be a fraction of what it once was. She would become a warrior equipped with the broken sword. "You… you _bastard!_ " she shouted. "It's gonna take me _months_ to grow that back!"

Aggron pulled the detached tail and the Stone Edges out of his gut, letting it crash onto the ground below. The few that broke off were merely left there for the time being. In the behemoth's hand he held the piece of the giant's chain he had broken off, letting the morning star fall to the sand beneath him. Somewhere upwind, a small explosion went off. And only a few seconds later the searing winds blew in the dust and debris, blanketing the two Steel-types inside.

With her teeth clenched even more than usual, Steelix stared ahead at the figure of the Aggron through the shroud. Each passing moment it grew thicker and thicker, and it didn't take long until each had lost sight of the other. Steelix suppressed her frantic breathing and tried to listen. The cries of battle around her had become numbed to her, leaving in her ears only a faint ringing and the _thump-thump_ of her beating heart as her body struggled to stabilize with the loss of her tail. But she knew that if she showed weakness for even a moment, she wouldn't be able to grasp victory. And slithering away underground… while appealing, her superiors wouldn't have her back unless she returned with a head, regardless of whether or not it's attached to a body.

Silently she dug the new end of her tail into the ground, biting down as the sensitive nerves pushed against the sand. Then she paused. Neither could she see the behemoth through the sand, but she couldn't feel the one-ton creature moving around. _Waiting for me to make the first move, huh?_ she thought bitterly. _Lucky you. Today I'm feeling generous_. Steelix buried her head into the sands and began slithering further into them, the rest of her body following after. Only, she was suddenly pulled taut by warm hands as the very end of her was just about to join the rest of her under the surface.

 _What the hell?!_ she thought to herself. _How did he sneak up on me?!_ The Aggron yanked Steelix out of the ground near-effortlessly and swung her into a deteriorated wall like she were the titan's flail. He then dug his foot into the ground and, with a quiet grunt, swung her the other way and smashed her into a fallen pillar. A plume of dust and debris burst outward as Steelix crashed into the ground in a daze.

The Aggron's jaw dropped down as a jet of steam rushed out, billowing and expanding upwards as it was pulled by the wind. His hands, now burning hot, gripped Steelix's end and pulled her, length by length, towards him. With each tug, Steelix squirmed more and more. The broken end of her tail bashed against his back, but he still didn't budge. With each successive hit her movements became more frantic and her breaths became panicked wheezes. In desperation, she dug her head into the sands and tried in vain to get away.

With one final pull, the Aggron held Steelix by her neck. Frightened red eyes met the phosphorescent glow of the Aggron's blue ones through the now dissipating shroud of sand. She sobbed and whimpered as the behemoth exhaled another jet of steam from his jagged jaws. He still said nothing. She couldn't form the words in her throat. But she was ashamed of herself, knowing that the final thing out of her mouth would be pathetic sniveling.

The Aggron raised an open hand in the air as the other held the flailing Steelix like a vice. She looked up at it as if it were the judgment of God Himself- the grand gavel whose impact would seal her fate of death. And with a final grunt, the Aggron dropped his hand down flat on the top of Steelix's head. The full brunt of the Earthquake ravaged through her body, straightening out. Cracks formed all over her head as a blank look glazed over her. Then the cracks formed in the segment behind her head. Then the next one. And the next one. Her entire body was covered in them, and pieces fell off one by one. The Aggron relinquished his grip on her, and her heavy body crashed onto the ground. The sheer force of will that held the pieces together then vanished, and in front and around him there were hundreds- no, thousands of steel shards.

"Good, youer finished," a voice told the Aggron. The remaining Steel-type turned towards it calmly to see a tall Scizor walking towards him. He was a gaunt figure with narrower, more pointed pincers than most. Red dripped off the end of them, quenching the thirst of the sands beneath him. "Nice timing on my part."

The Aggron nodded.

"They're retreatin' fer now," Scizor told him. "We're gonna build up th' front here, now. Ya' good ta help?" The Bug-type spoke the language in a tongue not meant to form it, carrying with it the homeland from which he left behind.

Again, the Aggron nodded.

"Nice. We're shelterin' ta' th' west of here," Scizor explained. "We found an ol' church, from the looks of it. Most of th' walls're still there. Head on there and let Gothitelle patch up youer gut. Then get some heavy lifting done."

With a third and final nod, a rush of steam burst out of his mouth. But rather than a jet, this was more of a defeated plume, like something inside him had shut down. The behemoth's body pressed upon the sands with the full force of his weight as he began to take in slow, heavy breaths.

"Autotomize, huh?" Scizor surmised. "Take youer time. It's just a few blocks away." The Bug-type turned around and walked away to the west. And the near moment he rounded a corner, another Pokemon appeared. She was a Grovyle, slim and faintly withered from the desert heat. Seemingly she had appeared out of nowhere before his eyes, kneeling before him with her head facing the ground.

"The grounds have been searched," Grovyle delivered. "Any who were hiding in wait have been dealt with."

"Excellent." Scizor put on a warm smile. "Do we have anyone monitoring th' retreating army?"

"Durant is following behind them, and we have guards posted in the upper floor of the church to protect the new fort," the Grass-type answered.

"Good. Go send word ta base camp and tell them ta-"

"Already done. Swellow just left a while ago," she interrupted. "The enemy were few in number when they retreated, too. Given the amount of time it will take for reinforcements to arrive, we have three or four days to reinforce ourselves here."

"Nicely done," Scizor beamed. "Hopefully we'll get our own soon. Now… at ease. Stand up." Without a word Grovyle did as she was ordered. "Arceus, ya' look like shit. Water up when ya' get back ta camp."

"Gee, thanks," she muttered.

"I need y- no. _We_ need ya' ta be in perfect shape now," Scizor lectured. "Even the smallest differences in your speed could mean giving them your head."

"Yes, sir," she sighed. "I'll go find Slowking right away."

The church was almost entirely untouched during the battle, miraculously enough. From the outside, the only thing noticeable was a single broken pane of stained golden glass. Pokemon were hustling in and out of the grand entrance. Some brought in usable materials salvaged from the battlefield, and others still hurried to bring in injured held on a stretcher behind them.

The Bug-type stood across the street from his new fort for a moment and took a deep breath of the scalding winds. A heavy stench of decomposing victory began to waft around him. _Such a beautiful place like this_ , he thought, _doesn't deserve all this… Whoever this church was built for, please forgive us for trespassing. I'll do what I can in the mean time to make sure you're repaired. Just, give me a few days. That's all we need_. He nodded to himself and made his way inside.

The pews had themselves propped up against the interior's walls, granting its inhabitants a large open room to operate in. The left half had a messy row of bloodied stretchers that lead up to a wooden table with a white sheet draped over it. Currently, an unconscious Zangoose laid back on the table with his head propped up by a larg\e clump of cotton held in a plastic cover. Over the Normal-type loomed a Gothitelle quickly but precisely bringing a needle through a large gash in Zangoose's leg. Behind her stood a silent Crawdaunt holding the spool from which the thread came from.

"How's it going?" Scizor asked.

Gothitelle glanced up at him for only a moment before returning her attention to her patient. "Could be worse," she answered. "Ten confirmed KIA. Thrice as many injured."

"Ten," Scizor grumbled. "Damn… We need ta find somewhere to give them a proper burial."

"With no disrespect to the dead, we need to help the living first," Gothitelle told him. "Crutches. Casts. We'll need a few things like that around here, if anyone can salvage anything." She stopped her hands and eyed the sealed gash carefully. Her eyes met Crawdaunt's, who reached over and snipped the thread. Gently but professionally Gothitelle lifted up the numbed Zangoose with a Psychic and proceeded to telekinetically wrap a roll of bandages around it. She dutifully nodded, placing the Normal-type carefully in one of the pews. Then she bundled up the sheets and tossed them into a metal basin, which Crawdaunt then sprayed with a Scald.

"Casts?" Scizor repeated. "Crutches can be easy to make, but how th' hell are we gonna find what we need ta make a cast?"

"Not casts, sorry," Gothitelle said. She laid out a new sheet and gestured for her next patient. She was a pale Raichu with her tail held in her front paws. "Oh, my. This one might be a bit… Not casts, but more like splints," she hurriedly explained. "Straight pieces of metal or wood. Some sort of cloth. Thick paper. Flags. Whatever you can find. Think we can get that?"

"Sounds doable," Scizor nodded.

"Thanks. Sorry, dear. Let's get that fixed up." With that, the tailless Raichu jumped her quivering body onto the table, and Gothitelle began to carefully clean the tender wound.

Behind the podium where the Priest would speak, there was a door leading to a small room. There was an altar in the middle of it with a fine layer of polish that gave, through the glistening tinted light from the stained-glass window, it the same shine that whoever it was dedicated to gave to he who maintained it. So many symbols lined the edge of the altar that he must have recognized from somewhere, but never bothered before to memorize them. Dismissing the matter, he turned towards another door, neighboring the one he came from, to reveal a narrow stairway.

Following it up brought the Bug-type to the top floor. Flat. Colorless. Tons of windows. Six able Pokemon acting as watchmen, giving Scizor a salute as he came by. Not too much was noteworthy outside of strategic importance. Once the smith returned… _if_ , he thought morbidly… he might be able to fix this up a bit more. But that shall be a worry for another day.

But the stairs still continued. They spun into the ceiling, spiraling further and further up until eventually they opened into a belfry. From the battle, the front of it had been broken, leaving pieces of the finely crafted architecture scattered on the floor. The grand bell hung loosely from a deteriorating rope, swaying back and forth in gentle arcs.

"I see you've made your way up here," came a voice. Scizor turned towards it to see, standing on the edge of the roof with his hands tucked behind his back, Slowking wearing his usual warm smile. Scizor returned one equally as warm.

"That goes ta ya', too," he replied.

"Old habits, I guess," Slowking shrugged. He shifted his gaze over to the blazing sun beginning to climb low in the sky. "And what of you, Sir Scizor? Preparing to fortify?"

"Got a few ideas, but I'm waiting for Aegislash ta return before I make anything final," Scizor answered. "There were a few good places I saw still standing in town. At the very least I want tunnels runnin' between them… You see anything about that?"

"I'm afraid not," Slowking sighed. "I can't see that far ahead right now."

"Don't worry about it. We can manage without it for now," Scizor waved away.

"But, at least I can see _something_ ," Slowking told him playfully. The Bug-type cocked his head. "They're on their way."

"Don't play th' pronoun game with me," the Pincer Pokemon warned.

"Alright, alright. I'm talking about Gallade's guild." Scizor's eyes grew wide as he froze in place underneath the great brass church bell. "Their figures are a bit… _murky_ , but whoever they are they're on their way. Left from Wrytsberg this morning."

"He's helping…" Scizor whispered. A coy smile sprouted on his face as if he were a child again seeing the wonders of the world for the first time. "He's actually helping us… Youer sure about this, right?"

"Entirely," the Water-type answered.

"This's _great!_ " Scizor beamed, giggling like a schoolgirl. The wings on his back buzzed in his excitement. "Do ya' know what this _means?!_ "

"That we aren't alone anymore," Slowking replied.

"Pre _cisely_. I knew it would have been a long shot ta get help, but… actually getting it?" He silenced himself, forcing his wings to halt, and began to look around. For miles in all directions, as he looked around at the mass grave, the memorial to what must have been tens of thousands of lives that could not be returned to, Scizor saw parts. Walls that easily could be re-erected and reinforced to improve their new fort, adding new rooms and connecting them to some of the mostly standing buildings. _They were in shambles when they retreated… Three or four days, huh? It'll be tight, but we could manage._ The Bug-type nodded dutifully. "Once youer done here, get back ta the ground floor. We're gonna start building once we salvage enough materials."

"Just another half hour," Slowking replied. His eyes were locked with the sun above him as if hypnotised. "I need to finish my meditation."

"It doesn't start until this evening," Scizor told him. "Gathering everything takes a while. Ya've Heal Pulse, right? Once ya' finish, ya' can help out Gothitelle."

"Yessir," Slowking responded, losing himself in his trans. Though Scizor couldn't see it, he was familiar with the glazed-over expression the Water-type would wear when he became like this. _Sun-drunk_ , many had come to call it.

"Now, ta do my part," Scizor said to himself. "Gotta get things going for tomorrow's guests." With the faintest of grins, his wings began to buzz once again, and at blinding speed he leapt off the roof of the church.


	9. Chapter 9: Day One

A field of golden sands lay at their sides as the party rushed through it, cutting through dunes like a knife. Blistering winds pushed an unfurled sail as a modified sailboat effortlessly cruised through. Riley had himself perched on the front, striking a heroic pose as he balanced on the bow as if to become the ship's figurehead. Behind him, a lethargic Luxio splayed out under the sunlight with his belly out, and a few feet away Buizel sat against the mast as he basked in the shade. The two back corners were occupied by a sulking Pyro, whose gaze was distant and his maw shut so tight that it may as well have been glued, and a weary Rose, sitting in the shade of the sail with a wet rag draped over her head. Kirlia, dutifully off as always, stood on top of the mast with his legs pressed together, and his arms folded as his stare focused dead ahead.

The captain of this small sandskipper was an old Skarmory. A thick iron hyde covered in the scars of a thousand battles coated the Steel-type, standing behind the sail with his wings outstretched. The moment the craft would begin to slow down, they would rush forward in a powerful flap, stirring up a Whirlwind to push the sails and regain their speed.

"So," Buizel said, catching Skarmory's attention. "Any reason you're sailing all the way out here?"

"Why wouldn't I?" the old Skarmory answered.

"The fishing seems poor," Buizel shrugged. Riley let out a short laugh, breaking from his pose. "Sands don't move as much as the ocean. There ain't anyone else out here, either. Doesn't it get… I dunno, boring?"

"Little bit," the Steel-type shrugged. He flapped his sharp wings forward and pushed the sails with another Whirlwind.

"Is… that it?" Buizel asked.

"You came to the wrong guy in search of wisdom," Skarmory told him. "What you see is what you get."

"Oh." Buizel paused and passively looked back to the horizon. "Just… trying to start a conversation."

"Some other time," Skarmory said. He pushed off the ground with his large talons and pulled on one of the ropes with his beak. The sail contracted against the mast, folding in on itself. Without the billowing wind to guide it, the craft drifted to a stop. The change in speed caught Riley off guard as he tumbled a few feet down into the desert. Rose lifted the now warmed damp cloth off her face and began to look around. "Time to go."

"What, here?" the Roselia asked. For miles around, all they could see were the rolling dunes and a few rocky outcrops. "I thought you'd bring us all the way to them."

"Yeah, well, this is about as far as I can take you," Skarmory shrugged. "I shouldn't exactly _know_ where they're camped at, y'know? Go any further, and I wouldn't be returning anytime soon… Last chance for you to turn back."

"We're fine," Kirlia answered. He jumped up with his thin legs and pressed his hands together, surrounding himself in a faint glow before activating a Teleport. The Psychic-type reappeared hundreds of yards further in the air and began to look around the horizon. And sure enough, following the bow of the craft pointed to a decrepit city. "It's straight ahead of us," Kirlia called to them.

"Where?" asked Riley, removing his head from the sands and looking straight ahead at a blank horizon.

"At least a few hours away." Despite now plummeting back to earth, Kirlia spoke in his regular rhythm and tone. "Thanks for the ride, captain."

Skarmory silently glared at the back of the Psychic-type. His razor feathers on his wing shook just so faintly. "Don't thank me," he said, almost scowling. "I was never here. Got it?"

"Yeah," Rose groaned. Reluctantly she stood up from the back of the craft and jumped overboard into the desert. Hot sands began burning the tiny feet of the Grass-type. Buizel walked up besides her and grabbed the cloth off her head, dousing it with a Water Gun and placing the now wet rag back on top of her head. It _squelched_ as it draped over her again. "Thanks," she exhaled.

"Mmhm."

Kirlia landed on the ground with a soft, almost underwhelming noise like a beanbag dropped on the floor as the sands shifted around his feet. Not even flinching, not missing a beat, he just walked forward as if his fall was just one long step. Luxio stretched out briefly before rolling on his side and standing up on all fours. He cracked his neck and leapt over the side as his muscles began to wake up. The pads of his paws acted as a calloused layer to keep the heat off. His gaze fell on the weary Roselia behind him, taking deep breaths of searing air into her small body.

"Need help?" he offered. Rose raised a brow underneath her soaked cowl. Luxio clarified, "You don't look like you're ready for this. If you need, I can carry you."

"No, no," she panted. "I'll…"

"I'd take him up on it, if I were you," Buizel suggested. "Kirlia won't slow down for you if you need a minute to rest. You'll either be literally dragged along, or left behind to shrivel up out here." Casually, he followed after the Psychic-type.

Luxio, now laying down on the ground like the Sphynx, looked back at Rose. The Roselia grumbled for a moment, two of those indecipherable words being _thank you_ , and then climbed up to the cat's back and laid there. She shifted the rag to cover her face, further filtering her noises. The Electric-type stood up and followed after them.

And last but not least, the Charmander skulked out the craft's stern and meandered behind the rest of the group. Riley, having been hidden by the side of the boat, stood up and walked beside his teammate.

"Hey," waved Riley with a passive smile.

Pyro refused eye contact. An aggravated stare aimed at the ground beneath him, as if when he looked up he would find himself in another realm.

"You okay?" Riley asked with his head tilted.

Still he didn't speak. It could have been because of the desert sun and how it works on Fire-types, but the flame on the end of the Charmander's tail burned brighter than usual.

"Look, if… if you need anything, I'm right here," Riley consoled. Silence filled the void of crunching sands beneath the many feet of the small party.

"I know," Pyro mumbled. Riley could almost hear the dry snap of the glue that held his maw shut. The tilt of the Riolu's head grew more drastic, wordlessly asking him to clarify what he meant. Pyro let out an exasperated sigh. "It wouldn't work if I just told you it was nothing, would it?" Riley shook his head. "Of course." He smiled quizzically. His voice stayed quiet. "You always get what you want, don't you? Even when you ask for all of us to die out here…"

" _God_ damn it," Riley groaned, staying quiet to not bring up attention from the rest. "I've heard this enough already. ' _It's dangerous_ '. I've got it."

"I know you have." The Fire-type cynically laughed to himself for a moment. "I'm not gonna stop you anymore. For whatever reason, Rose…" His claws noticeably clenched up. His pace slowed. "Not only did she let you go, but she's taking us with you… Following someone we don't even know into a warzone…"

"Hey, I-"

"Don't worry. So long as nothing happens, I'll drop it. Maybe one day we can look back on this and laugh, y'know?" he said. For a moment, Riley caught a bit of… _something_ in the salamander's voice. It wasn't the tone or the words themselves, or the tongue that formed them, but… whatever it was, it made him imagine that sort of drunken camaraderie that you only ever see on TV, where two beam at one another with cheeks flushed and clang mugs together, accidentally spilling a good portion of their drinks. But the very moment the Charmander opened his mouth again, that vision was gone.

"But, if something _does_ happen out here…" Pyro raised his gaze to meet Riley's. There they were again: twin Dragon Rages, swirling and churning like a swarm of insects picking the meat off their prey. "I don't think I need to say what'll happen." The Riolu couldn't have stopped if he tried to, now. Autopilot moved one leg in front of the other as the frozen expression one would have right before fear settles in had been molded onto his face.

"Got it…" he managed to say back after seconds passed.

"Good." Pyro looked towards the front of the group once again.

…

Even after the battle had ended the city was filled with the clashing of steel and the rumbling of collapsing stone. The old church had been vandalized to a point where it was no longer recognizable as a church anymore. It was shelled in the body of all its former neighbors, made of a dozen different types and sizes of bricks and bound to it with iron nails bashed in with a hammer. The behemoth of an Aggron held up large pieces of stone and gave them to a small group around the second story, where a Feraligatr then slathered it with something akin to cement and carefully put it on the wall outside, forming a platform on the edge of the wall. Squads of the salvagers came in and out of the general area, carrying just more than their bodies could handle. Some rolled in great barrels taken from an emergency food storage, granting them water, or flour, or sugar, or grain, dried meats and fruits, ails, cans- enough to hold the entire town over for a few weeks now went to a small group of just a few hundred.

Scizor stood on top of the roof alone. He paced back and forth in a focused state, mentally sketching the blueprints. Adding in towers and pathways, tunnels and traps, connecting his main fort to others, his list would never end, but he would only be able to read out two or three more days worth. This would be fairly temporary, so the defenses didn't need to be expertly crafted. At best he'd be able to manage some crude towers and tunnels after the church was fortified enough.

His usual dutiful expression faltered as it stared into the horizon, past where the opponents had retreated into. They were just out there, past those dunes of sand, hiding, waiting, recovering. The night before, against the sky he was sure that he saw the glow of a flame. It's certain that they're spying on them, noting the weaknesses in their defenses. Building right in front of the enemy left no room for surprises, so all they could do was build it well.

"Sir," a voice came from behind him. Instantly he recognized it as Grovyle's, undoubtedly knelt with her head facing the floor as usual. "Our guests have arrived."

"Really?" Scizor asked, almost shouting. Grovyle nodded.

"They're walking in from the southwest," she told him, somewhat dismally. "I thought... _you_ would want to be the first to greet them."

"Thanks for tellin' me," he beamed. Putting away his plans for now, he buzzed his wings and sprung off of the roof.

Ruined streets in that part of town all blended together into one decrepit field bordered by a few miraculously untouched remnants of the city. The party of six had to traverse over it all with varying degrees of difficulty, and unsurprisingly Kirlia's team had the easiest time with it. Kirlia's thin body was shockingly agile and able to leap over whatever he needed to in one fluid motion. Luxio's a cat, and not much more needs to be said about how effortly he pounced over everything. Buizel would just climb over everything he needed to with ease like a lemur. Riley watched them carefully and tried to copy their movements, and with moderate success he was usually able to spring over anything that stuck in their path. The last two, however, didn't bother with their parkour, and just walked around anything that wasn't too in their way. Any columns that now lay horizontally on the sands, Pyro would just climb up with his claws and then offer the small Roselia a hand.

Each one of them felt, in their own way, tense upon arrival. From excitement to fear, muffled anger to sickly thrill, the air was so thick with it that they had to carve through it like jungle brush.

It was in the middle of one of his jumps that Kirlia froze in the air. Luxio stopped as he landed and turned back with a tilted head to his captain. The rest did the same, and five sets of eyes became oddly fixated on the Psychic-type, and that where his gaze lay. For standing upon a broken pillar, squatted down and staring back in bewilderment, was Scizor.

His amber eyes scanned the children over and over again, as if he would see through their masks and reveal that they weren't actually children. But each inspection only reconfirmed the realization he was so desperately trying to avoid. And the Explorer's emblem on their bag was colored with Gallade's guild's green and white and brandishing a pair of brilliant wings… This couldn't be. Scizor _refused_ to believe it.

"I presume you're the Scizor we've heard about," Kirlia stated. "It's an honor to meet you." He gently floated back down to the floor and bowed to the Bug-type. The rest followed in suit.

"Is this it?" Scizor asked, suppressing himself. The Riolu grit his teeth and took a sharp inhale, but the Psychic-type glared at him with that _I-will-pull-you-inside-out_ glare from the night they had left. Riley bit down on his jaw and forced himself to silence.

"Yes, we are," Kirlia answered as he receded into his usual persona. "The calvary has arrived."

Scizor shook his head in an overwhelming shock. He placed his pincer to his mouth and began to mumble, "No, no… He wouldn't do this… It isn't right."

"What, send _us_ to do the job?" Kirlia scoffed. "With all due respect, _sir_ , don't belittle our guild. Gallade wouldn't just send ' _children_ ' to their deaths. We're not here just to be diplomats and show support."

"Not like I could send ya' back, anyways," Scizor sighed. He buzzed his wings and sprung off the pillar, leaping in front of the group. "Stand up. I'm a leader, not a lord." They did just that, and stood there silently under Scizor's sharp gaze. "You…" he said to Kirlia. "Youer ol' Gallade's kid, ain't ya'?"

"That I am," Kirlia answered.

"He'd send his kid ta' a warzone?"

"You could consider it a sign of faith, if it'd make you feel better."

"Surprisingly, it doesn't." Scizor rolled his eyes. "And what of the rest? You can all speak, can't ya'?" The Roselia and the Riolu looked between each other hesitantly until one of them decided to speak up.

"It's an honor to meet you… s-sir," Riley rushed out with the first thing he could think of.

"Is it really?" Scizor asked. "What, did youer Guildmaster present me as some kind of hero?"

Panicking, Riley reached into the memory of the conversation he had overheard the night he left. "He did for your cause," he blurted. "'The crown must die', or something like that." _And yet he sends children_ , Scizor bitterly thought.

"Captain!" called a voice. The seven turned towards it to see, lumbering down the street, a Blastoise. Blood streamed out of the corners of his mouth, and part of his shell had been chipped off.

"Oh, _shit_ ," Scizor muttered. Again his wings began to buzz, and he pounced towards his comrade with wide eyes. The children looked amongst themselves before jogging over to them.

"Thank Arceus I found you," Blastoise panted.

"Take it easy; sit down," Scizor told him. He stood underneath the Water-type's arm and held him up like a crutch. "What happened to ya'?"

"Durant was digging escape tunnels, and he stumbled upon some kind of corridor," Blastoise explained. "He thought he found some kind of storage, so he went and got me and Rhydon. But there was someone down there…" Scizor laid him down against a fallen pillar, and while doing so his pincer brushed against a dozen small holes in the back of his shell. "A Cacturne came out of nowhere. It all happened so fast. I barely got out of there- I don't even know what happened to Rhydon."

"Someone stayed behind…" Scizor muttered. He glanced over to the guild members, and his amber eyes glistened with a new idea. "Where's the tunnel ya' crawled out of?"

"We entered over-" A cough burst out of his throat and splattered blood over the Bug-type's face. "A few hundred yards that way. Right underneath a torn painting of some forest." He nodded to his right.

"Don't ya' worry," Scizor consoled. "Ya'll be alright. We'll get someone over here with Heal Pulse. That should be enough to get you over to Gothitelle."

"But, Rhydon-"

"I told ya' not ta' worry," Scizor smiled. "Lucky for us, we got six new recruits." The agonized Blastoise moved his trembling head to face the group that had just ran into view.

"N-no," Blastoise stammered. "The corridor's too narrow for six."

Scizor paused for a moment before turning towards the guild Pokemon. "Luckily, these guys're small enough. They could fit maybe two of them at once."

Immediately Riley stepped forward acting without thought and raised his hand. "I'll go," he offered with a grin.

Rose, nearly horrified, stepped forward and reached out to him as if to pull him away from danger. "No, Ri-"

"Something wrong?" Scizor asked sternly.

"Not at all," Kirlia covered. "Then I'll join you down there." A strict, sinister gaze fell on Riolu with the pressure of a mountain on top of him.

"Good. You two, you heard Blastoise. Few hundred yards that way," Scizor told them. "The rest of you, we're based at a small church right now. Ya' can't miss it. It's where all th' noise is comin' from. I'd show you myself, but, I need ta' rush over and get someone to help Blastoise."

"Sure thing," Luxio answered for them.

"See ya' in a few." Scizor waved his pincer at them before again buzzing his wings and launching himself off the sands. Just before he raced off, they could just manage to see a cracked grin. Blastoise by now had fallen unconscious under mat of damp, scarlet sands.

"I saw this coming, and I'm _still_ surprised," Kirlia sighed.

"What?" Riley asked.

"If anything, I guess this would be a good gauge for him," Buizel offered. "Blastoise only mentioned one. If he couldn't even manage that, then… well, y'know."

"Let's just get going," Luxio suggested. "Scizor needs us, for whatever reason. We already gave bad first impressions. The least we can do is be timely."

"I suppose," Buizel shrugged. "You two ready?"

"Yeah, I guess so," Rose answered softly. Her eyes fell onto Riley for a brief moment, but for what must have been less than a second they had revealed within the small Grass-type… futility. Anger was there, sure, but it had been destroyed in a storm of depression, as if it had been a natural disaster that wronged her. But then she blinked, and all that went away when she glanced up with a hint of resentment at the Psychic-type. "Don't let him get too hurt down there," she asked.

Kirlia merely looked back at her without reacting in the slightest. She may as well have pleaded with a wall for help. Shaking her head, she pressed forward. Luxio and Buizel took the lead and went in the direction Scizor had ran off in. Pyro came soon after, giving Riley one of those _don't-you-fuck-it-up_ stares that one would get from their older brother.

And again, it was the two of them alone, with their teammates walking off into the distance. Kirlia clenched his fist and retracted his dagger out of his bag with it in his right hand. The blood had been cleaned off of the steel.

"Hope you're ready for this," Kirlia said. "If you're lucky the Cacturne will only be thirty levels higher than you."

"I was born ready," Riley smirked.

"If you say so, then who am I to stop you? You saw where Blastoise pointed to, then go ahead." Kirlia gestured in the direction that the tunnels allegedly were.

"Don't have to tell me twice."

…

The darkness of the pathways fled from the light emanating from a rune-tattooed crystal held in Kirlia's Psychic. Riley's heart pulsed in his chest as each step forward brought him closer and closer to the tunnel that this one had dug into. Dirt lead into bricks like some untouched crypt- some tomb that hadn't felt new air in a thousand years. Even more worrying was the Rhydon that Blastoise had mentioned. The Rock-type must have ran down the tunnel as fast as his body could carry him, until the guardian had caught up to him. At least twenty holes had been punched into the back of his limp body. All they could do was give him a moment of silence and walk on by.

"Brace yourself," Kirlia warned Riley. He took a sharp inhale and then barked out in a clear but threatening voice, "Hey!" The echoing _Hey! Hey…! Hey… ey…_ was his only answer. So he shouted again, "You already know we're here. We already know you're here. Let's skip the foreplay and get right to it."

"Turn back," bellowed an old, hoarse voice. "We don't have to do this. Please."

"I'm afraid we can't do that," Riley replied. "You're our job now."

"Is that so," the voice, presumably Cacturne, sighed. "Then I'm right here. Come and get me, child."

Kirlia absently tossed the eldritch crystal through the hall, the rays of which danced about like a disco ball and it _clink_ ed against the tunnel floor. It spun and then came to a stop in the midst of the T-intersection.

"Go get 'im," Kirlia commanded.

"Wait, you aren't helping me out?" Riley asked.

"I probably should," Kirlia admitted. "But, _you_ were the one who so volunteered for this. So let's see what you can do."

"Oh. Well… thank you."

"Little bit of advice for you though," he whispered. "Naturally, his species is kinda slow. And he can't take much of a hit, either. But, what he _can_ do is spray you over the walls."

"Dodge 'im," Riley summarized. "Got it." Without a single extra word or thought, the small Fighting-type sprung off the ground with a Quick Attack and slid to a stop next to the luminous crystal.

Cacturne was undoubtedly an eerie creature. Sickly yellow eyes glowed like harvest moons underneath the brim of his natural helm. What was supposed to be the scarecrow's twisted smile was more normalized to a less terrifying grin. It more resembled the visor of a knight's helm. His right arm was a bit longer and leaner than his left, as if it had been stitched on to an otherwise tall, muscled body.

"Just yourself?" the Grass-type asked him.

"Yup," Riley answered. He reached into his bag and pulled out one of the Reviver Seeds. His teammates flashed in his head with their guilt-inducing glares piercing through him. _Just in case_ , he thought to himself, slipping the seed under his tongue. Riley took a deep breath and cracked his neck.

"Do you have a name, boy?" Cacturne asked him.

"I'm pretty sure it's Riley," he answered, sliding off his bag and tossing it gently to the side.

"'Pretty sure'," Cacturne repeated. "Very well, alleged Riley. If you're so insistent on stepping forward, then I can not let you pass. One or one hundred, _no one_ will." He bashed his left arm into the wall besides him and broke through the stone. And as he pulled it back towards him, on his forearm morphed a thick and thorny shield at least three feet in diameter. Out of the tip of his gangly right arm, there shot out almost twenty long needles the size of daggers, all bunched together and pointing the same way.

 _A spear and shield_ , Kirlia observed, leaning against the wall besides the illuminating crystal. _Interesting... Well, amnesiac? Let's see how you do_.

The Riolu burst forward with a Quick Attack, leaving a trail of white behind him as he clenched his fist. Leaping into the air he swung it forward with a mere punch at the Cacturne. The Grass-type raised his Spiky Shield to meet it and thrusted the hundred thorns into the attack. Riley's punch had bounced off, and his small body splayed out on the thorns like he had been caught in a bushel of blackberries. Then Cacturne swung his shield at the wall, nearly crushing Riley between them. But almost instinctively Riley gripped the brim of the shield and yanked himself out. Upon landing on the ground, there was an opening for him to attack. Before he even saw it Riley leapt forward with his palm cocked back, and just as he was in front of the Grass-type he swung a Force Palm into Cacturne's gut. The harvest moon eyes grew full as he took two steps back. But as Riley went in for another, Cacturne recovered enough and kicked him away. The Riolu bounced off the floor like a doll as he flew back.

"You…" Cacturne paused. "That should've hurt more than that. What level are you?"

"High enough to kick your ass," Riley spat.

Kirlia, from the back, took the conversation away and posed a single question with his head cocked to the side. He asked uncertainly, "Do I know you?"

"It depends. _Do_ you?" Cacturne returned.

"I remember hearing a few tales of a desert knight," Kirlia said. He and the Cacturne locked eyes. "It's been a while, so the details are foggy… But he was a Cacturne, like you, who fought with a spear and shield. That's you, isn't it?"

"No," Cacturne answered, barely even waiting for Kirlia to finish. "I'm afraid I'm no knight."

"Does it matter who he is?" Riley scoffed.

"I suppose not," Kirlia shrugged. "If he doesn't want a marked grave, then who are we to insist otherwise?"

Beaming, Riley again lunged forward. With his shield still up Cacturne thrusted the daggers on his Needle Arm forward to his attacker. Riley jumped out of the way and onto the wall, but Cacturne was even faster. He swiped his spear at him and pinned a stunned Riolu against the wall. As he squirmed for freedom the shield bashed into him, pressing him with a thousand thorns into the wall. Hundreds of tiny cuts formed all over his body as he gasped with pain. A moment passed, and the Cacturne withdrew his attacks. A limp, coughing Riolu fell onto the floor as the Grass-type took two steps back.

Riley bared his fangs as he began to stand up, banging his fists together in two quick motions like a bell to signal himself the beginning of a second round. As the child darted forward, Cacturne took two quick steps towards him and lunged his Needle Arm into the ground right in front of the opponent. Riley jumped to the side of it, only to be met with another thorny shield bash. Instinctively he rolled just underneath it and shot a Force Palm into the Grass-type. Cacturne swung his leg forward to kick him away like a puppy, but the kid sprung out of the way with a Quick Attack. Cacturne's harvest moon eyes grew wide as he spun around in anger, until the heel of the Riolu's back paw crashed into his jaw with a High Jump Kick.

" _Enough!_ " bellowed Cacturne, regaining his balance. He retracted nearly all of the needles on his right arm, leaving him just one long barb on the end. The Grass-type stepped forward and kicked the Riolu against the wall. Then the single needle thrusted forward and stabbed Riley through the shoulder. How effortlessly it went right through his flesh and dug into the brick behind him.

"Haven't you had your fill?!" Cacturne screamed.

"I wouldn't count on it," Kirlia offered. "He's a bit _weird_." The two set their gazes on the Riolu. The small Fighting-type squirmed and snarled like a trapped animal as he weakly swung at it again and again, feebly pushing against what pinned him.

"Is that so," muttered Cacturne. "Well then, you weird little creature… Have at you." He pulled the thorn out of the Fighting-type and swung it at his side, conjuring all of its brethren to join it once again. The brunt of his spiked shield bashed into the Riolu, stunning him long enough for him to bring back his needle spear. The points all punched into the wall as Riley gripped on for dear life to the brim of the shield that Cacturne retracted towards him. With an irritated grunt, the Grass-type refused to deal with a monkey and smashed the front of his shield into another wall. A coughing, gasping, bloodied Riley fell limply onto the floor.

"Are you not going to help your friend here?" Cacturne asked to Kirlia.

"I probably should," Kirlia mulled. "But he'd probably get pissy if I took this away from him… Hey, Riley. You need any help?"

"N-no," the Riolu hissed.

"You sure? His shield seems to be a bit of a pain in your ass right now," Kirlia toyed. Riley merely whined in response. The older of the two laughed to himself. "I'll tell you what," he said. "You can still take him on yourself, but I can at least open him up a bit for you. Sound fair?"

"I guess," Riley groaned. As much as he didn't want to admit it, he wouldn't be able to get past that shield without… whatever Kirlia was about to do.

"Then, here you go," Kirlia grinned. The dagger in his hand began to levitate in the gentle glow of a Psychic and spun around and around, this way and that way like a leaf in the wind. With the whiz of a bullet the blade drilled through the air and down the tunnel. Cacturne acted upon years of experience and raised the Spiky Shield, catching the dagger several inches into it. His teeth grit together behind his visor as he winced from the pain.

"Thanks," grinned the Riolu, forcing himself to his feet with sheer will.

"Was that supposed to hurt?" sneered the Cacturne. Kirlia just shrugged and leaned against the wall again. _Shouldn't've expected him to win without some sort of handicap_ , he thought to himself.

With a clenched fist the Riolu darted forward once again like a masochist bashing his head into a wall again and again. Cacturne raised the spined shield and readied the needled spear. The scarf around Riley's neck almost burned against his skin like a hot skillet. His fangs bared, he leapt up towards the cactus shield. A pair of red eyes set on the dagger, and before he himself knew what to do his fist shot into the hilt. The dagger punched through the shield like a bullet and dug through the Cacturne's arm.

The Grass-type cried out in pain as he recoiled. Full harvest moons set their trembling gaze down on his limb to see it split like a block of wood from an ax. A thin, watery red liquid spilt out onto the floor in a steady stream like a faucet. _This child_ , Cacturne thought. _There's no way in hell that he should be able to hit like that._ With a reverberating roar, Cacturne thrusted the Needle Arm spear into the end of his left arm. He grit his teeth behind his visor and twisted it. The split shield and forearm fell onto the ground beside him. It only would have slowed him down now, anyways. With a little bit of time he could fix it himself.

"I've had enough of this," Cacturne growled. He lunged forward and swiped his spear at the Riolu. Riley leapt over it and thrusted another Force Palm into his opponent's chest. Behind Cacturne's visor, he grinned. The wet stump swept the Fighting-type away, and the Needle Arm cocked itself back. Each point coated itself in a malevolent purple and then lunged forward. Nearly twenty different points stabbed into Riley's chest with one piercing Payback.

And there he laid, pinned by a cluster of spear points like some ritualistic prison. Riley's teeth pressed together to form a wall preventing the escape of a cry. Blood began to seep out of the wounds.

Panting, Cacturne raised the body up on his spear. Feeble, hoarse wheezes crawled out of his throat as he weakly raised his fists to hit him. "You could've walked away," Cacturne told him. "Both of you could." He set his eyes on Kirlia, who was still leaning against the wall. He hadn't reacted in the slightest.

"Knowing his type, I think I can speak for Riley here," Kirlia said. "'It's not over yet, you bastard', or 'I'm not done with you'. Something along those lines. Just imagine he's screaming that at you."

With a brow raised, Cacturne brought the wounded Riolu closer and inspected him. His fur was dying itself red, and yet a quivering smile has formed on the jackal's face. Cacturne couldn't help but to wonder what kind of masochist he was dealing with here. What perplexed him the most, however, was the scarf that draped on his needles. Though burnt against him like a dragon's breath, it didn't hurt. It was just… a sensation: not good, not bad, just existing. But it wasn't until a moment later that he saw what the scarf had distracted from him. Out of the corner of the quivering smile, he could just see the shell of a Reviver Seed.

Just as the Grass-type began to withdraw himself, Riolu shot a Counter into Cacturne's chin. A mist of milky spittle sprayed out of his mouth as he sprawled back onto the floor. Needles retracted back into his remaining arm and dropped the Riolu onto the floor. Cacturne wasn't moving. A smirking Kirlia picked up the luminous crystal in his telekinesis and began to walk towards them.

"Not bad," Kirlia stated. "I was betting against you, if I'm being honest. Credit's all yours."

"F-fuck off," Riley sneered.

"Shhhh. Don't stress yourself," Kirlia told him. "It doesn't change the fact that you've more holes in you than a determined whore. It's not a cure all- just a painkiller… I'd tell you to stand, but I'm not sure if you'd hold together… Hey, look at me." He locked eyes with the Riolu and performed another Hypnosis. And just like that, he was out. A roll of bandages levitated out of his bag and began to spin around the Riolu and hold him taut. "Someone should be along with Heal Pulse soon enough," he said to himself. Once he finished, he then picked up the Riolu and gently placed him near the entrance to the tunnel.

"Now it's just the two of us," Kirlia said, looming over the collapsed Cacturne. Cacturne avoided eye contact. The Psychic-type let out a short sigh and sat against the wall. Telekinetically the dagger floated out of from between the split arm and brought it, spun dry, to his side. "Is there a reason you lied to me, Sif?"

The Cacturne took a deep breath. It felt hot against his chilled skin. "So, you have my name," Sif admitted. His voice was hollow and dry now. "And here I thought I was dead to the world."

"I remember hearing of you from my dad," Kirlia said. "Nothing too much, but enough for me to get a picture of you in my head. Your spearhead though… it's different than what they described. It's supposed to be a partizan, is it not?"

"The body…" Sif started. He looked somberly to his right arm. "It… Sometimes it has trouble getting rid of its former habits."

"Explain," Kirlia demanded.

"You could say that I was disarmed of my partizan," Sif chuckled. A puzzled Kirlia tilted his head before he noticed a long scar going around his right shoulder. He cracked a grin and laughed quietly.

"Arceus, I hate puns." He shook his head in shame at himself. "You still haven't gotten used to this… barbed spear, I'll call it, haven't you? The Sif I've heard of wouldn't have lost a fight to a kid with rabies."

"I had been retired from battle for a long time now," the Cacturne sighed. "But this… I've no excuse."

"What, you're saying he legit beat you?" the Psychic-type asked playfully.

"There's no such thing as a legitimate win out here," Sif told him. "A soldier can clasp onto his honor like a starving child onto a loaf of bread, but it does not mean he will survive. There is no cheating in a fight."

"I guess that's true," Kirlia shrugged.

"What about you two?" Sif asked. "What brings children all the way out here?"

"The Guild," Kirlia answered simply. "We were hired to come and help."

"And they took you in?" Sif pressed quizzically.

"Well, they had two of us go down here as a test of sorts. But, y'know. Pretty sure we got a solid C." Silence fell between them for a moment, until Kirlia's gaze fell on the area past where Cacturne had guarded. There was just a thick vault door behind him, barely touched by the lights of the crystal. "What's in there?" he asked.

"What, the door?"

"Yeah."

"Oh…" Sif paused. "Just a safehouse. Nearly out of food and water."

"So you were hiding from Scizor's army?" Kirlia inquired.

"Yup," Sif answered.

"Really? Then why didn't you join the rest of them in retreat?" The two locked eyes. Maybe it was something about the lighting, but for such a small, feminine figure like his, looking into those two red eyes was staring into the reflection of a wolf's eyes hiding in the bush. He cracked a grin as the facade began to fade away. The moons' glow faded as the sun began to rise and overpower them. "Someone in there, isn't there?" he said playfully.

"No!" the Cacturne blurted. Kirlia kept his smile as he tilted his head. "N-no, I… it's… look, can you do me a favor?" he asked. And all Kirlia did was tilt his head the other way. "There… there's a tunnel hidden in there. Small. Even you could barely crawl through it. If they end up finding it... please, offer to go through it. And whatever you find… say it lead nowhere."

"You got me curious," Kirlia toyed. "Just what's in there?"

"Hopefully it'll be no one," Sif said. "But, it's a child, barely old enough to run. He's a… the son of my friend- a little Ralts."

"A child… I suppose you won't tell me why he's hidden, will you?" Kirlia sighed. "Oh well. But, this Ralts… If they do discover a tunnel, Scizor's group will naturally wonder about it. You've been guarding that room, so they'll know that something's up. And from what I've heard about war, Pokemon resort to torture to get their answers. You think that you can stay quiet about it?"

Sif hesitated. He opened his mouth to speak, but Kirlia immediately cut him off.

"That's a no," the Psychic-type said sternly. "Pain makes you reach for the way out. Whoever this Ralts is, he'll be found soon enough. Unless, that is-"

Kirlia took the dagger into his hand and plunged it into Sif's forehead. A quick spray of the watery red liquid burst out, and a dry gasp trailed out his throat as the two moons lost their sickly glow. They were just two sulfuric-yellow rocks within endless black voids. Kirlia's playful smile had vanished the moment steel touched Sif's skin. He didn't stab him over and over as he roared with laughter. He didn't lick up the watery blood. Nothing of the sort. In fact, he didn't really do anything out of the ordinary, save for being ordinary. No regret, no sickness- no big deal.

"Favor completed," he said to the corpse of Sif. He eyed the door carefully for a moment with the faintest furl of a smile. "So, I guess the kid owes me now…" Kirlia turned away and picked up the crystal, and then began walking to where he had left Riley.


	10. Chapter 10: Conference in the Vault

It was just before dawn before a bandaged Riley woke up in what he could only assume was the infirmary. He and a dozen others laid underneath thin, stained blankets upon equally thin, equally stained. And every one of him seemed as foreign to this vast scalding desert as he was. Big and small, simple and exotic, it was almost baffling just how many Pokemon had gone to these damned wastelands to fight. Venusaur, Seviper, Heracross, Hitmonlee… So many that he hadn't seen before. And there must have been a hundred more outside, doing whatever for the good of their cause.

Without a word Riley stood up and lightly treaded towards a doorway as he carefully wove around the injured. He ducked underneath a cloth sheet that covered the exit, and just like that he was outside. The glow of the sun just beyond the horizon had begun to stretch across the sands, bringing with it a few extra degrees of infamous desert heat.

"Glad ta' see youer up," Scizor called. Riley turned to see the Bug-type standing on top of a small turret installed upon the church. "Feelin' any better?"

"Hm?" Riley looked down at his abdomen, and then noticed the slightly bloodied bandages around his stomach. "Oh, yeah. I think I am. At least it doesn't hurt." He hit his open paw against them twice. Though he tried not to show it, there was a slight sharp pain inside.

"That's good." Scizor jumped down onto the desert floor a few feet away from Riley. "When we came and saw ya' skewered like that, I thought ya' wouldn't make it honestly. Ya' get credit for taking the Cacturne down, but… minus points for carelessness."

"'Least I got the job done," Riley shrugged.

"Ah, ta' be drunk on youth…" Scizor sighed wistfully. "Ta' think that my vitality has become so vast that death can't grasp me."

"Wait, hold up," Riley interjected. "Your accent, it-... are you Scottish?"

"Scottish?" Scizor quizzically repeated. His gaze had become fierce. "Boy, do… do ya' even know what that means?"

"Ye-" He stopped suddenly with the realization that not even he knew what he was talking about. _Scottish…_ A word that to him had no meaning, not even a tickle, but still insisted that it defined Scizor's voice. Crudely charming, roughly welcoming. "I… I dunno," he mumbled. "I thought I did, but, all I know is that you're it. Whatever that means."

"No," Scizor answered. "I'm from a peninsula ta' the Northeast. It's called the Highlands, if ya' look at the map. It's where my accent hails from."

"Huh…" the Riolu put a paw to his chin.

"Youer Riley, right?" Scizor asked, looking genuinely puzzled.

"Mmhm."

"M'kay then… 'Riley'," Scizor repeated, taking a few steps back. "I'll be sure ta' remember that… Take it easy 'til the doc says ya' can work, got it?"

"What, you got somewhere to be?" the boy asked.

"Yup. Ya' can't really see it from here, but we're building another tower a little bit aways." He pointed his pincer past a row of shambled buildings in the direction of the alleged tower. "I was just doin' some planning when I saw you, so I need to go report ta' them."

"Real quick though- you got anything else for me to do 'round here?" Riley asked.

"Like I said, take it easy," Scizor told him. "If ya' need somethin' ta' do, just… find your teammates. They can show ya' around the place."

"Where are they?"

"Second floor of the church." Scizor nodded in the direction of the aforementioned church, neighboring the shack that was the infirmary he emerged from. "They should be in the sleep pile."

"Sleep pile…?"

"Ya'll see." Scizor smiled playfully. "I gotta go. Don't tell anyone about me being from the Highlands, okay? Or the whole… 'Scottish' thing. They might think you're crazy." And with that, his wings began to buzz, and he gracefully leapt off the sands. It was less than a second before he had vanished behind the buildings.

"O...kay then." Riley shrugged and turned around to the church shelled in the bodies of all its neighbors. The stained glass windows all over had been covered by layers of walls made from countless types of stone connected by railroad spikes that had been hammered in. Taking a few steps to his right revealed the behemoth of an Aggron sleeping against the outside wall. His eyes were closed as gentle yet gargled snores drifted out of his nostrils.

"Woah…" A grinning Riley stepped towards the Aggron. "You're a big guy, ain't ya?" He raised his paw forward as if approaching a stray dog.

"I wouldn't do that," a voice called. Rose stood on the corner of the platform that surrounded the second floor, like some foot-tall sentinel.

"What, is he gonna crush me?" Riley asked.

"He _could_ , but I doubt it," the Roselia answered. "He was up all night working, though, so he's proba-"

The Aggron's light blue eyes opened with a phosphorescent glow in the dawn. With an irritated groan his weight began to shift around and stir the sands around him. His tail bumped into the church's shell a few times as the titan pushed himself to his feet.

"Damn it," Rose sighed. "Sorry, Cain."

The Aggron waved his hand to dismiss the matter and stretched his colossal arms out.

"'Cain'?" Riley repeated. "That his name?"

"Yep," Rose answered. "Cain, could you help me down, please?" The Aggron dubbed Cain raised his left hand up towards the platform, and the small Grass-type jumped down onto his palm. Gently he lowered it back down, and Rose landed down on the desert floor. "Thank you." Rose smiled back at him.

The titan smiled back and waved to her before turning around to walk through the streets. Each step shook the ground as the behemoth went further and further away, leaving a trail behind him with his swaying tail.

"He's a nice guy," Rose stated.

"Yeah. Not too talkative, though," Riley observed.

"I know, right? I thought he might've been a mute, but he makes _some_ noises. Grunts and whatnot," Rose told him. "But getting on topic, Kirlia told me what happened to you." She aimed the red floral hand at Riley's bandages. "It was reckless, but I've done enough lecturing. Nice job in there."

"Thanks," Riley blushed.

"But, I… Didn't it hurt to get impaled like that?"

"I dunno. For a minute, I guess," he answered. "But I bit into a Reviver Seed to keep me going, so I didn't feel anything."

"Your wounds though…" Rose spoke in a soft tone as her expression became more and more sullen. "The seeds only work for about ten or fifteen minutes. If the wound was fatal, th-"

"You _just_ said you were done lecturing me," Riley groaned.

"Fine," she sighed. "We're already here anyways. Best to keep the friction to a minimum."

"Thanks," Riley said again.

"So…" Rose said awkwardly. "Did you end up remembering anything?"

"Hm?"

"Your memories," Rose clarified.

"Oh. Right. No, nothing yet," Riley shrugged.

"Yeah, I thought so." The Roselia leaned against the wall and looked up to the Riolu tenderly. "What do you think you'll do when you get them back?" she inquired.

Riley fell out of his usual playful persona and put a paw to his chin. "It's hard to say," he mulled. "I'd like to think that I'd stay with the guild, but… I don't know who I left behind, you know? It's…" He struggled to find the words for a moment before disregarding the thought and moving onto another. "I guess I'll make the decision when the time comes, but I can't see myself leaving the guild. It's a lot more exciting, y'know?"

"Yeah, it is," she said back with just a hint of coldness beneath her still tender expression. "But whatever it was, at least it wasn't completely dull." She pointed to the Riolu's left ear. Riley raised his paw curiously to the top of his head, only to feel tough, bubbled skin on the back of his ear.

"The hell?" Riley carefully stroked the rough patch of hairless skin, studying its topography.

"You never noticed before?" Rose asked.

"I can't exactly see behind me," he growled, genuinely a bit angry. Riley hadn't encountered anything that could've burned him yet, and he hadn't actually existed here for more than a week.

"Yeah, but… wind… Nevermind," she sighed. "I'm sure there's ten other scars at least under your fur."

"Probably," Riley lied. Instinctively he looked to his right forearm for a moment, and after spending a second thinking of what to say, found something pretty good and used it. "Each of them a story that I can't even remember." Sounded even better aloud.

"I'm sure they'll come back eventually," Rose attempted to console.

Again, Riley shrugged. "Maybe."

"Morning," came the drowsy voice of Pyro from above. The two turned to see the Charmander rubbing the sleep out of his eyes as he stood perched on the edge of the platform. "You two're up early," he stated.

"I could say the same for you," Rose replied. "Weren't you up all night with everyone else?"

"Someone had to." Pyro stretched his arms out, causing a few soft _pop_ s in his wrists and elbows. "We didn't exactly look the part they were expecting, so it's not like I could just sit on my ass all day." He shot a brief glance at Riley. "And now he's gonna want me to do just the same. Where did Scizor go, anyways?"

"He ran off to some tower." Riley nodded in the general direction of where Scizor had fled to. "Said he wanted to work on it instead of the main building. Let everyone sleep."

"A tower, huh?" Pyro repeated. "If I know Kirlia (and I unfortunately do), he's probably there. Making us look bad." The salamander proceeded to hook his claws into the wall below him and in a sloppy fashion he scaled down the side and onto the ground. "I'm here already, so I may as well help out. You two want in?"

"I would if it weren't for the… you know… 'lack of _fingers_ ' thing," Rose said, waving the two flowers over her head.

"Scizor told me to take it easy, on account of these." Riley gestured to the bandages that bound his chest together.

"Well," said Pyro. "I'll be over there if you need me." He waved a goodbye and began walking away from the church.

"Jesus," Riley muttered to himself. "In only five minutes he's the third guy to wander off that way."

"...Nothing?" Rose asked. A confused Riley set his gaze down on her. "I'm sorry, I don't want to go back to this topic, but… is your name all you remember? Nothing more?"

"Uh… w-well…"

 _Well you see Rose, I'm actually not from this world. I'm a human that has been transported to your universe by unknown means and have infiltrated your society. Gallade even helped me do it. Your leader is helping a literal illegal alien fit in and go unnoticed in some conspiracy that I don't even fully understand. Now I just want to run around and see what fun your home world could offer me, until I'm eventually outed for being human and take the three of us down together for being alleged accomplices of mine_.

That wouldn't go over well, not to mention that it was overly harsh, so Riley rubbed the back of his head as if to shake any loose memories free. None came. "N... Yeah, I got nothing. Sorry."

"Huh." Rose folded her arms. "There isn't anything we can do about it, I guess." Riley could only shrug. "If you'll need something to do in the meantime, soon enough the camp they left behind will be arriving."

"Camp?"

"You know, food. Water. Supplies," Rose explained. "It was a line for the Pokemon to retreat to in case of emergency. And since the front moved, so shall they."

"Isn't it a bit dangerous to have them so close?" Riley inquired.

"I asked Scizor the same thing. He just said ' _Don't ya' worry, they'll be fine._ ' Shockingly just telling me not to worry doesn't help anything, but that didn't give me a real answer." Rose rolled her eyes.

"... 'Kay then. So, we just wait?"

"Yep," she said. "We just got a few more days of sitting on our collective asses before the ' _exciting_ ' stuff starts happening."

"Damn it," Riley growled.

…

The entirety of the day had been dull and droning, full of glorified housework. Simple work of setting up the camp was saved for the smaller Pokemon. And since Pyro had been needed for some welding over at whatever construct Scizor had been working on (which was now just visible over the tops of the buildings if you stood in just the right place), this left Rose and Riley to just jab poles into the ground and do the boring but assuredly important work. Rebuilding tables and stands that had been deconstructed for travel, carefully placed around walls and masked with cloth that hung from the poles that formed the camp's skeleton… It all gave him the feeling of boredom one would have whilst tilling the fields from their father's orders, planting seeds one by one in fields that must have been tens of acres at least. And being surrounded by all the other adults just made it worse. Every time he would begin to whine or complain, all he would get was a sharp, annoyed glare in return. Not that he could blame them, but… it was still frustrating.

But it was just before the sun had set when he had, save for his partners on this journey, seen the first child in this wasteland. He had been around the near-completed kitchen, lazily placing stone after stone around a fire pit with a few more sticks behind him to set up some sort of rotisserie. He had little more than half of the perimeter finished before Riley felt the unmistakable feeling of eyes on his back. Alarmed, he spun around with one of the stones held in his paw like a caveman awaiting their predator.

And standing there, just beside a makeshift counter, was a small Vulpix. Milky, mystic eyes met his with a curiosity that was hard to grasp. They reminded him more of mirrors that reflected whatever the observer looked into them with. Her muzzle hung open just so in a mix of disbelief and excitement.

"You…" she stated. The fox took a few steps closer. "What're you doing here?"

"Chores," he had answered back. "What, am I doing it wrong?"

"No, that's- I mean, you're a kid," the Vulpix elaborated. "What's a kid like you doing out here?"

"I could say the same to you." With a hint of irritation he dropped the next stone in place and picked up another.

" _Exactly_ my point. Kids aren't allowed in here," she continued. The fox began pacing around the Riolu with her nose pointed at him, taking in three quick sniffs of the scent that surrounded him. Uncomfortable, Riley took a step back. His heels were just in front of the semicircle of smooth stones. The Vulpix sat down just a few feet in front of him with her head cocked to the side. "You're not from around here; that's for sure. You smell more… grassy, if that makes any sense."

"I'm from Treasure Town," Riley told her. "It's pretty grassy around there."

"Treasure Town?" Those twin mirrors glistened with the same excitement Riley had been prone to as of late. "That's where Galla-" The Fire-type suddenly became petrified as her gaze fell onto the emblem on Riley's bag: the mighty shield backed by brilliant wings. "Holy… They let kids into Gallade's Guild?"

"Yeah, lots of 'em," Riley answered. "There's almost two hundred members, and from what I've seen most of them aren't too much older than me."

"But, Scizor keeps telling me that Guilds aren't a safe place for us," she said.

"So… a Guild isn't safe, but a war zone is?" he asked. "Why _are_ you here in the first place?"

"Scizor said he needed my help," she huffed. "Which is a load of crap, 'cause all I ever do is busywork."

"And what, you wanna be on the front lines?" Riley looked down into the twin mirrors only to see a bit of himself looking back at him. She meekly looked away for a moment before kneading her front paws into the sand.

"I'd at least like to try," the Vulpix sulked. "I mean, I get it. I'd get myself killed out there, but…"

"There is no 'but'," Riley finished. "You just want to, right?"

"Yeah… that- that's it." For but a moment the Vulpix was stunned. The billowed bunch of tails swept across the ground. "Do… do you have a name?"

"I go by Riley," he said.

"Kit," she responded, digging a paw out from the ground and raising it towards the Riolu in front of her. Riley extended out his own and proceeded to do some awkward paw-bump. "I shouldn't even be here right now, so I'm gonna run off now. I'll talk to you later, 'kay?" And before Riley could even open his muzzle to reply, the Vulpix dubbed Kit dashed across the sands and rounded a corner.

The Riolu just tossed up his arms and placed yet another stone in place as he went back into his work. _Kit_ , he thought to himself, mentally tracing over the letters. He put down another stone. She's a bit weird, and yet, in such a short conversation he couldn't deny that in his chest he had felt an odd warmth.

It wasn't until an hour later that he had finally finished with his work for the day. The Pokemon had all retreated to wherever they claimed their space to be. And shockingly, save for a Swellow perched on top of the belfry, the roof was empty. So this had been where the three under the title _Team Hellraisers_ had chosen to spend the night. As the bell had been taken to do god knows what, the belfry was open enough for a dozen others to fit. But it quickly became clear why. During the days, without anything but sand to absorb the heat it would be intolerable. And when it became night there was no heat to slowly leak out. Blistering winds would with the moon turn into a blizzard.

Pyro seemed unmoved by the cold night as he curled in on himself as usual, his chin resting gently on his folded arms as he snored gently. Rose had herself tucked nearby the flaming tail of the Charmander, greedily taking the heat it gave. Once she thought she was in a good enough position, she slipped a Sleep Seed under her tongue and slowly drifted off.

In the corner, about ten feet away from them, a dazed Riley sat in the corner. His breaths formed into clouds of steam in the air that plumed out and wafted in a barely noticeable breeze. Fur helped him somewhat, but it was certain that he would have died out there if he had been stranded. Even half-asleep, he could figure that out. But what perplexed him, draped over his weary body, was the end of the red scarf that draped over his still body, and the radiating heat that it gave off. It comforted him like a mother's womb. And as weird as it was, he was honestly too tired to care. Figuring that he'd think about it tomorrow, he closed his eyes as he was lulled to sleep.

And thus no one noticed as the outline of a winged creature hovered over the town before silently speeding off into the distance.

…

The Guild was near-silent that night. All the children were asleep in their rooms as they peacefully awaited the dawn as any other day. Save for a little bit of tension from the Guildmaster, it had been an ordinary, beautiful day in Treasure Town as it always was in the spring.

In the very back room of the employee hall, there stood a heavy green metal door. Pressing one's ear against it would reveal a great plethora of hissing and sparking and buzzing from beyond it. But very few actually knew where it came from, for the inhabitant was rarely prompted to come out.

To the surprise of many, its occupant was a relatively tall, lean Ampharos. Her face, protected only by thick goggles, was caked with dirt and dust that had been burnt on after countless days she loomed over the steel workbench, engraving characters into perfectly spherical orbs. A white-hot needle held on a wire had been clutched into her right hand as she etched them in one by one glyphs of a long-forgotten language. Each one intricately formed into an artform, taking several minutes to perfect just one.

"Hey!" shouted Simisear from outside. He slammed his fist twice onto the door. The Electric-type recoiled in shock, and the needle jumped out of her hand and carved a line through one of the glyphs.

"No!" she exclaimed, as if the universe would rewind upon her request. But there the orb still stood, and her carefully made artwork had been tainted. "You… You little…! I spent almost an hour on this!" Ampharos snapped at the door.

"You can work on it later," Simisear said through the door. "Gallade's calling for a meeting."

"Meeting?" she repeated. "But, I don't… damnit!" She swung her arm out and smacked it into the orb, sending it spinning into the wall. A large chunk of it broke off as the rest of it hobbled over and over, around and around in messy circles. "Alright… Alright, I'll be out in a few."

"Just don't take too long," Simisear told her.

"By the way, you owe me for this. Blank orbs are expensive," she shouted after him. Simisear shook his head and proceeded down the hall, bashing his fist against door after door.

"C'mon, you heard me! Meeting time! Let's go!" he bellowed.

"Arceus, be quiet!" screamed Audino, angrily swinging the door open. "The kids are trying to sleep!"

"Gallade told me to get everyone up however I can. This seems the easiest way," Simisear said.

"Apparently I'm the only one who gives a damn about them, so whatever then," she sighed. "A meeting? In the vault, right?"

"Yyyep. There wasn't enough room for everyone in the office," Simisear explained.

"Uuuurrrrgh," groaned Rhyperior, slamming the door into the wall so hard that the handle bent. "This better be important."

"Oh, come-" Audino groaned, putting her hands to her ears and pulling on them out of frustration. "Just slam it louder, why don't you? Wake up the whole rest of the town while you're at it."

"Excuse me," called the cavernous voice of Dusknoir. The Ghost-type floated in place in the center room with his arms folded above his rotund stomach. "Do you mind shutting up? We don't need anyone else eavesdropping this time."

" _Yes_ , thank you," Audino huffed.

"Wait, eavesdropping?" Simisear tilted his head. "What the hell happened?"

"I don't know everything. Hence why Gallade called us to the vault." Dusknoir nodded towards the thick steel door opposite of the office.

"The vault?" Audino repeated. "Oh my, this is serious."

"Then let's get moving," Rhyperior told them. Even when trying to speak quietly his voice seemed to rumble. Without another word the large Rock-type began lumbering forward. Dusknoir drifted over to the vault door and with his broad hands he gripped the heavy dial. It spun precisely and perfectly with seemly little effort on Dusknoir's part, for he barely even glanced at the lock. Just as it _clicked_ open Rhyperior gripped its handle with his right hand and jerked it open. Behind him came Simisear and Audino, followed by a hustling Ampharos with grime singed to her face and chest. Dusknoir closed it behind him, and the dial wizzed and twisted as it reset itself.

A dim light came down from thin plates in the ceiling. And basking in the glow was a library of supplies- rows of shelves that reached from the floor to the high ceiling, each filled to the brim with different kinds of foods, drinks, tools, materials, fabrics, gear, maps… if you needed anything, chances were that you could find it beyond that impregnable vault door. At the end of the world this would have been the last hope for life to continue.

But even in here there was yet another door; nowhere as heavy as the vault, but enough that it would take a dozen hits to break down or so. Soundproof, too. Someone could have been tortured down there and even with an ear pressed to the door no one would ever know. Rhyperior removed a key from his side and jammed it into the lock, twisting it like a knife in flesh and ripping the door open- nearly breaking it off the hinges. Everyone went in, and again Dusknoir took the key and closed the door behind him. It gave way to a long, gently sloping hallway illuminated by the occasional golden plate. A few were flickering, and some weren't working altogether. These prompted the only few words that had been uttered during those few minutes.

"Looks like you got some maintenance to do," Simisear said as he looked back to Ampharos.

"I'll get around to it," she said back. "No one uses this place anyways. I have time."

And that was it. The next minute and a half was silent, until the end of the hall gave way to another room. It was just as big as the central room of the Guild, give or take a few feet. A hexagonal table had been erected from the middle of the room, its surface decorated with a large map of the world. Six different patches of land in the middle of a vast ocean had all been intricately drawn on and labeled. Islands, landmarks, dungeons, towns, ruins, everything that had been discovered thus far had been placed on.

"Took you long enough," scolded Gallade. The tall Psychic-type sat in a chair opposite the entrance, staring down at a block of wood that his sharp fingers whittled away at. Slivers puddled around his chair. "Maybe you should take an example from the Guildmates. At least they're punctual."

Sitting next to Gallade was the Blaziken, leaning back in the chair with her long legs pushing against the edge of the table. Her eyes were half-open and her talons were folded against her chest. And three seats down from her were the remaining cooks, Simisage and Simipour, leaning over the table with a hand propping their heads up.

"Whatever," Rhyperior shrugged. He took his usual chair (big, steel and reinforced) and plopped down on it. Dusknoir floated in next to Blaziken, and Simisear next to Simipour. Audino and Ampharos took the nearest chairs and sat down carelessly in the remaining seats, opposite Gallade. With everyone in place there had been three seats remaining empty.

"Sorry to call you here this late." Gallade tucked away the wooden block and folded his hands together. "But I needed to get everyone together."

"Is the world gonna be destroyed again or something?" Simisage asked quizzaciously.

"What? No- well… no," Gallade answered. "No Legendary has been disturbed, and the balance is as uneven as it always has been."

"Then why did you drag us all to the vault?" Ampharos asked, irritated. Around her eyes one could see outlined in soot where her goggles would normally rest.

"He probably figured you could use some fresh air," Simipour said with just a hint of unintentional smugness to his tone. "Maybe a shower, too." Ampharos just rolled her eyes.

"If you didn't notice, we're missing some of our children," Gallade snapped harshly. "Six of them, actually: Team Camelot and Team Hellraisers." Immediately everyone but Gallade and a dazed Blaziken set their gazes on Dusknoir.

"Way to drop the ball," Simisear scoffed.

"You had _one_ job," Audino scolded. "Keep an eye on whoever comes in and out. That's it."

"That's impossible," Dusknoir stated sternly. "If anyone had gone down the hill I would have noticed."

"Knowing Kirlia, he probably used Teleport to get around you. Pyro and Miss Rose, I couldn't tell you. But I do know that we found a broken Iron Thorn and a groove in the wall of the cliff. Presumably that was Riley," Gallade informed.

"He jumped off the cliff?!" Audino exclaimed with her hands cupped over her mouth. "He's okay, right?!"

Simisear just began to laugh and smack his open palm against his knee. Simisage grinned and shook his head. "I knew I'd like that kid," snickered the Fire-type.

"I'd think so," Gallade answered. "He's not still laying there, and there wasn't any blood at the bottom. Kirlia couldn't have warped him, either. There'd be no need to jump if he was there at the time."

"And where are they now?" asked Ampharos.

"This…" Gallade paused and twiddled his thumbs. _How should I put this…?_ He took a deep breath. "I got a tip from the barkeep of the _Sleeping Stallion_ that worked two nights ago. He told me that the six of them were taking Chatot's weekly caravan to Wrytsberg, and mentioned that they were discussing… they were discussing the revolt going on in the desert of Implentur."

"Oh lord, please, no," Audino begged to whatever ethereal being may have been listening in. "They'll be _killed_ out there! We need to go save them- now!"

"Not so fast," scolded Dusknoir. "Going up there now would only make things worse. The kingdom of Implentur may assume we've chosen a side if we send in so many reinforcements. The entire Guild would be dragged into it. Treasure Town is just beginning to prosper again. Who are we to take that away from them?"

" _Thank_ you," Rhyperior exclaimed, pointing a hand at the reaper. "Someone's finally making sense around here."

"What, you'd rather have them die out there?" she lectured. "Come on, you guys! These are _lives_ we're talking about here!"

"We know," interjected Simipour. "That's why we can't act on instinct."

"The rights of the few, or the needs of the many," Gallade muttered. "A debate older than time… Shall we be valiant heroes, or dutiful leaders?"

"Even you?" Audino almost gasped. "In case you've forgotten, one of those lives is that of your _son_."

"I _know_ that," Gallade spat in a sudden burst of rage. His fists clenched together so tight that the tips of his razor fingers dug into his skin. "As much as I…" He put a fist to his mouth and bit down on his thumb. Muffled, he said, "He's still just one life, in the grand scheme of things."

"Audino, please. Calm down," Simisage suggested. "We haven't made a concrete decision yet. Obviously, he wouldn't have dragged us all down here if he had already made up his mind."

"Yes, thank you," Gallade nodded. He took his bleeding thumb out of his mouth and placed both hands flat out on the table, covering up a small chain of islands in the middle of the northern ocean. "There's a few things I need to tell you all about before we make our decision."

"Spill it then," Simisear demanded.

"Two days ago, when I updated everyone on the warfront, I received a job request," Gallade explained. "Apparently, Captain Scizor formally sent in a request for us to ally ourselves with him and send in some reinforcements. Rhyperior and I debated this for a short while, and it ended in a stalemate. It seems some of the kids overheard us, and... you know the rest."

"A formal alliance…" Simipour muttered to himself.

"Sounds like what you've been waiting for," Ampharos stated.

"It just may be," Gallade said in a low tone. "But-" He clapped his hands together to gather the attention back on him, "-I like to think of this as a democracy of sorts. You're all a part of the Guild. What do you think we should do?"

"I vote no," Rhyperior said. "They broke the rules. We shouldn't be expected to save them."

"My mind's made up," Audino huffed. Gallade shifted his gaze to the cooks, who all eyed each other for a moment.

"Well… we shouldn't risk everyone here for lives that very well may already have been lost," Simipour offered.

"I'll go with yes," Simisear contrasted. "We don't get many stupid ones like them. I kinda wanna see what they'll do next."

"I…" Simisage paused for a moment. "I'm sorry, but, I like having a job here. It's a no for me."

"Of course you'd say that, bush-hair," Simisear sneered.

"At least I don't-"

"Gentlemen," bellowed Dusknoir. "Save your little spat for the poker table, okay?"

"... Flaming faggot," Simisage mumbled.

"WHAT WAS TH-"

In a blinding rush Blaziken leapt up from her chair and raced over to the other Fire-type. Her knee crashed into Simisear's chest, forcing the words from his throat in a jumbled mess and crashing him into the wall. A mere second later Blaziken was holding him against the stone with the talons on her feet clutching his neck so hard they nearly broke the skin. His confused and panicked gaze met with her predatory glare, and for a moment he thought that he was about to be picked clean.

"Shut. Up." Not a request, not a demand, but a divine decree. Simisear, realizing that his words could not make it out of his throat, just nodded. Blaziken dropped him, coughing and holding his sore neck, and strode back to her chair. Simisage grinned down at a scowling Simisear.

"Thank you," Dusknoir nodded. "As for me… Against my better judgment, I'll go with yes. If things go awry we could always just kneel."

"Same," Blaziken shrugged.

"Oh, uh…" Ampharos stammered. "I… I agree with Simisage. This isn't an easy job I can get anywhere else."

"Of course, the final decision is mine," Gallade sighed. "Everyone… I'm sorry. Blaziken, I'll need your help for this."

"For what?" she asked.

"Damn it," Rhyperior grumbled.

"I'm gonna need a bit of help up there. Get some rest: We leave at dawn. As for everyone else…" Gallade looked at them all with a bitter smile. "Just… Keep the place running while I'm gone, okay?"

"Will do," Audino promised, leaning back in her chair with relief.

"Sure…" The two cooks looked at one another with sprouting fear inside them. Simisear came up behind them grinning and put his arms around them.

"Cheer up," he told them.

"It's easy for _you_ to say that. You finally won something in the past six months," muttered Simipour. Sear dug his fingers into Pour's shoulder, causing the Water-type to yelp faintly.

Ampharos lightly sighed and began to stand up. "If you need me, I'll be back in my room," she said, and without another word began up the gently sloping hall.

"Make sure they come home," Audino pleaded. "However bad they're hurt, it'll be no problem."

"I already planned on it," Gallade assured. Audino nodded to him and then pressed on behind Ampharos.

"Sir, if Blaziken's gone, who's going to take the day shift at the lookout?" Dusknoir inquired.

"I'm sure Rhyperior can take it," Gallade shrugged. "Isn't that right?" The large Rock-type kept his glance down at the table with a ferocity so intense that he could drill through the map with it. "See? He'd love to."

"O… kay then," Dusknoir murmured. "Come on, Blaziken… Let's get you some rest for tomorrow." The Fire-type shrugged, and the two then left the room together.

"You three," Gallade called. The cooks all looked to him. "Settle your matters upstairs, eh? I don't want the table getting any marks on it."

"Yessir," said Pour.

"Sure thing," said Sear.

"You got it," said Sage. And just like everyone else, they all stood up and walked down the hall.

And now it was just the two of them: Gallade and Rhyperior, sitting in an deafening, oppressive silence. The entire world stood between them down there, in a soundproof room that nobody knew about. And once they heard the metal door close at the end of the hall, both of them were acutely aware of that simple little fact.

"What was the point of this stage play?" Rhyperior insisted. His gaze hadn't moved off of a small island in the middle of the ocean on the table's surface. "Why even bother asking everyone?"

"Is it so odd to want to get my son back-"

"They're gone, Gallade. No one else can hear you," Rhyperior spat.

"Look, if you think I'm lying, go ahead and think what you want. Form all the conspiracy theories you can," Gallade barked. "But those kids can not and _will_ not die on me. I won't let them."

"I know you won't," Rhyperior sighed. He stood up in one forceful motion, knocking the heavy chair out from under him. "They're too valuable for you now, aren't they?" Shaking his head, Rhyperior began lumbering back up the hall, leaving Gallade by himself down there. The ends of his folded fingers stabbed into his skin, letting thin streams of blood trickle down onto the map.


	11. Chapter 11: Knowall Town

Sneasel made her way back to the path. It took a great deal amount of effort to continue walking as she held the box under her arm. The entire way to the dirt road, she was thinking about that damned Riolu. She was _sure_ that he was half her level, yet he could still stand equal ground against her. Type advantages couldn't level the field that much, could they? If he got another hit in like that first one, she… Annoyed, Sneasel shook her head. She broke out of the forest and sat down on the path, panting heavily.

"Hey, Sneas!" Joker was jetting towards her, with Murkrow flying beside him. Breloom was lagging behind, one hand pressed onto his shoulder.

"The hell? Why are you here?" Sneasel scowled at Joker.

"I could ask you the same thing!" Joker skidded to a stop in front of her, "Here I am, hitching a ride to the Knowall Bazaar, and suddenly my wagon is attacked. Then, I go out to help, and find the attackers are my colleagues."

"About that," Murkrow explained, "We were sent by Sableye to steal the caravan's Joy Seeds. It sure was lucky that you happened to be there, or we might have failed."

"Speaking of failing," Joker turned to look at Breloom, who had just now caught up, "Whose idea was it to send Brelbrel along?"

"I figured experience in a real battle would knock him down a peg, since he's been insisting on being allowed on grown-up missions," Sneasel explained.

"Well, I'm glad you didn't die, at least," Joker grinned and slapped Breloom on the back.

"Do we happen to have any bandages on us?" Breloom winced from the pain.

"I didn't bring any because I didn't think this job would be that difficult," Sneasel admitted, "but Knowall Town isn't that far from here, so we could get some there."

"But Knowall Town is where Espeon is located, you know?" Murkrow added.

"Yeah," Sneasel sighed, "but with a wound like that, he won't make it back to Churchwell. We'll just have to bear it."

The group then made their way to Knowall Town, supporting Breloom on the way. The trip wasn't especially far, but Breloom couldn't move very quickly and ended up lengthening the travel time. By the time they arrived at Knowall Town, the bazaar was beginning. The main road was crowded with Pokemon looking to find something of interest.

Breloom had grown pale from blood loss, and the three others surrounded him to protect him from curious onlookers. They slowly made their way to the large building in the center of the town. It was simplistic in style and made of brick, with a large wooden sign on top shaped like a scroll on top of a book.

Sneasel held the door open for her comrades as they entered.

"Espeon, are you here?" Murkrow called out.

Inside the building, the walls were lined with bookshelves, filled with what must have been hundreds of books. Scattered about the room were tables and chairs, as well as sofas, coffee tables, and lounge chairs. In the center of the room was a spiral staircase leading up to a second floor.

There was a large mahogany desk near the back, facing the door. The desk seemed out of place, as it was much older than anything else around it. The wood was faded and chipped, and one leg had been replaced by a book.

"Is he out right now?" Sneasel asked.

"What are you four doing down there, tracking blood into my library?" a voice called from the staircase.

Sneasel looked up at the Espeon perched on the edge of a step. "We got into some trouble on a mission, and we need medical treatment," Sneasel explained.

"Yes, I heard about that. While attempting to regain Joy Seeds that were lost, you ended up in a huge brawl on a moving caravan. Quite daring," Espeon snickered.

"Breloom was injured quite badly. Do you have any bandages?" Murkrow asked.

"Of course I do, who do you think I am?" Espeon scoffed. "Wait there. And please try not to make any more of a mess than you already have." He sighed, then enveloped himself in a soft purple light and disappeared in a Teleport. Breloom sat on the floor with his back against a bookshelf, breathing heavily.

"It's alright now, you're gonna be fine," Sneasel assured him, "but you have to stay awake."

Breloom nodded weakly.

"Honestly, how pathetic," Espeon appeared beside the Grass-type, a red box in his mouth. He opened it up and lifted a rag with Psychic. Espeon used the rag to clean the wound and added a bottle of alcohol to disinfect it. Breloom bit his lip and hissed as the sting of the alcohol set in.

"This is why I think a division of children in a crime syndicate is a stupid idea," Espeon continued as he bandaged Breloom's shoulder.

"It's better than losing trainees during a mission due to the trainer's negligence, or having to deal with treacheries arisen from trying to recruit adults who know better," Sneasel defended.

Espeon muttered something under his breath as he continued to work, then once he was done, he turned to Sneasel. "How do you plan on repaying this kindness I showed you, hm?"

"Can't you just let us off this one time, out of the kindness of your heart?" Sneasel asked.

"Sorry, if I was that generous, I wouldn't be part of the _mafia_ ," Espeon scoffed.

"Thought not. Then I'll give you some of the Joy Seeds I attained," Sneasel offered, holding out the box of seeds.

"Do I look like the kind of guy who eats those things?" Espeon spat.

"C'mon, Espie," Joker chimed in with a smile. "We don't have any money on us, so how else are we supposed to pay you?"

"First off, don't call me that. Second, I don't care if you're dirt poor. You can work, can't you?" Espeon asked.

"What? But we have to get these back to-"

"Sableye can wait. I need this entire library cleaned from top to bottom," Espeon interrupted, bringing over cleaning supplies with his Psychic.

"We have to clean the _entire_ library?" Murkrow asked.

"Yup. Since I'm a kind Pokemon, I won't make Breloom work, but you three had better start now if you want to leave by sunset."

The three Pokemon gave a collective moan as they took the cleaning tools and got to work.

…

Among the townsmon setting up stands and the ones already set up, there was one area in particular that was especially noisy. This was the Knowall Park, where tents of varying colors and sizes littered the grounds. Pokemon of all types were moving things around and preparing to open for business.

Stands selling sweets and snacks were laying out their foods, booths of games were setting plush prizes on shelves, and tables of toys and souvenirs were organizing their wares. In the center of the park was a big multicolored tent, and confetti seemed to be dropping from nowhere all across the area.

As Pokemon walked about the tents, a Buneary rushed through the crowds, hastily searching for someone.

"S'cuse me!" She approached a cotton candy stand. "You seen Jokah around?"

"Not since yesterday," the Ekans who was manning the stand replied.

Buneary turned and continued on.

"'Ey, Dewott!" She stopped a Dewott who was carrying a box full of colorful balls. "Know where Jokah went?"

"Didn't he leave yesterday, before we left Hazel Town?" Dewott shrugged.

With a frustrated groan, Buneary kept searching. Just then, a shadow loomed over her. She spun around to see a Dragonair fly overhead.

"Airy!" she called.

"Don't tell me _you're_ using Joker's ridiculous nicknames, too," the Dragonair sighed as she landed.

"Have ya seen 'im? It seems 'e hasn't returned since yestaday," Buneary informed her.

"I haven't, but that's a huge problem, isn't it?" Dragonair asked worriedly.

"What should I do? We can't perform without 'im!" Buneary wailed.

"Calm down. This is Espeon's town, remember? Maybe he knows what happened to him," Dragonair suggested.

"Ah! Good call! Ok, I'll go ask Espie!" Buneary turned and ran towards the center of town.

"Ah, Buneary!" she stopped when she heard a voice call her, "Wait up!" A Bunnelby came dashing towards her from the park. "Bunnel, whatsa matter?" Buneary asked.

"You're looking for Joker, right? Let me come," Bunnelby told her.

"No way! You need to stay and help set up!" Buneary protested.

"C'mon! Aren't we supposed to be partners?" Bunnelby asked.

"Just cuz Jokah told us ta be… Fine. Butcha gotta keep up!" Buneary then took off in a full-blown sprint.

"Ah! Hey, wait! No fair!" Bunnelby chased after her.

…

Sneasel wearily began dusting off the books from the shelves in the fiction section. Somewhere around the letter T, her arms had grown sore, and only a disimpassioned will kept her going. Thankfully, Sora told them rather sternly that the upstairs "doesn't need you to fuck everything up more than it already is", but even still, the main room was painful enough.

As she placed a book titled simply _Thunder Mountain_ , relatively smaller than the rest, back on the shelf, the doors burst open and slammed into the walls. A small stack of books that Murkrow had been alphabetizing spilled over onto the floor.

"Espie! Bad news!" a Buneary ran in, out of breath, followed by a Bunnelby, even more breathless.

"This is a library. Shut up or I'll throw you out," Espeon barked irritably.

"Jokah's gone missin! We think 'e mighta got inta trouble on 'is last mission!"

"Why do you think that? He often disappears for days on end," Sneasel shrugged.

"He's got a performance tonight," Bunnelby explained, "but as we left Hazel Town, he got a job, so he told us to go ahead. He said he'd be back before the first show but he must have been caught!"

"Who got caught?" Joker came over from the back of the room.

There was a moment of silence throughout the entire room.

"Joker… Why were you on a caravan when you had a show to prepare for, you bastard!" Sneasel yelled.

"I was on my way to the show!" Joker defended.

"You'd have gotten there way faster if you used your mafia connections, though," Murkrow pointed out.

"But a caravan ride seemed more fun," Joker explained as he rubbed the back of his head.

"So fun prioritizes over work?!" Sneasel scoffed.

"Shut _up_ ," Espeon sternly snapped from the back. "This is a _library_."

"What's going on?" Breloom had regained enough strength to stand and decided to see what all the yelling was about.

"Jokah! Y'ave ta hurry n come prepare for the show! Ya still haven't told us who's performin' tanight!" Buneary grabbed Joker's paw and began dragging him out.

"But I have to stay here and clean with Sneas and Murky," Joker grabbed Sneasel's claws as he was led out.

"They can come with us, then," Bunnelby told him as he helped Buneary lead the way.

"But I have to stay and watch over Breloom," Sneasel grabbed Breloom's arm as she followed Joker.

"Brelbrel can come, too, then!" Joker laughed.

The five of them left the library as a chain, rushing to the park. Murkrow and Espeon watched them leave with a mix of exasperation and irritation.

"Well, get back to cleaning, then," Espeon told Murkrow as he walked over to his desk.

"Whaat? I still have to clean?" Murkrow whined.

"Who else is going to?"

…

Joker laughed as he was dragged through the crowd by the two rabbit Pokemon, and in turn dragged Sneasel behind him. The five of them ran all the way to the park. The makeshift paths were crowded with visitors and performers. Pokemon juggled dangerous objects and walked over the crowd on stilts. Grass-types spat plumes of fire into the sky as large Pokemon walked through them, treading on a wire tied between two poles.

The performers looked over as Buneary and Bunnelby brought Joker through the crowds. Some of them cheered for his return, causing the entire crowd to applaud him. Joker stopped and waved at the many Pokemon, a wave of applause emanating from the shifting, cheering, waving crowd, just for him. He raised his arms in the air dramatically and gave a grandiose bow.

"Be sure to come watch the main show in the big tent!" he called to the crowd.

"Come on, we have to hurry!" Buneary tugged on the fin on Joker's arm.

"Yes, yes, I'm coming." Joker continued moving, and Sneasel and Breloom followed.

…

All the performers were now gathered in the big tent. Curious onlookers loitered around the entrance. In the center, standing on a podium, was Joker, a big grin on his face, as always.

"I apologize for leaving so close to a show, but it's about time we get serious," he addressed the crowd.

Sneasel and Breloom stood off to the side, listening. "I've never been in the big tent before a show," Breloom admitted, "the atmosphere is different than I expected from a circus troupe." It was true, despite the usual fun attitude that comes with the job, tension gripped the air.

"That's because the time before the show is the most important," Sneasel explained, "You've never seen it before, so watch closely, because this is the only time outside of battle that you'll see Joker's business mode."

Breloom looked up at the colored Floatzel, who had his eyes closed in thought. When he opened them, his entire mood - his aura, one might say - shifted. He seemed cooler, more calm than usual. Joker's cold black eyes swept across the crowd, assessing the Pokemon gathered with a precise appraisal. The Pokemon below were completely silent, anxious.

Breloom couldn't help but hold his breath.

At last, Joker spoke, his voice filled with firm authority, like he was an entirely different Pokemon. "Today's show will feature Dedenne and Joltik, Buneary and Bunnelby, Seviper and Grovyle, and Dewott and Servine. The final act will be Dragonair and Charizard. In between will be Pidove, Pidgey, Tailow, and Spearow."

The crowd began talking about this selection.

"Yes! We made it to the show lineup!"

"It's ok, you'll get to perform next show for sure,"

"Damn, I practiced so hard, too…"

Mixed emotions flooded the Pokemon, and Joker stared down his nose at them, "Quit whining! My decision is final, and if you have a problem with it, you should practice harder. Now get to work! Show starts in ten minutes!"


	12. Chapter 12: Joker's Show

Sneasel and Breloom sat in the stand with the audience as they waited for the show. They were drowning in the murmur around them that came from what must have been nearly a thousand Pokemon in the crowd, drawn in from all over the map. Whether they knew it or not, the circus capitalized on a market that not many tapped into.

"I can't _believe_ you've never been to Joker's show," Sneasel commented.

"I never had an opportunity to," Breloom responded. "But they sure set up fast. It hasn't even been five minutes and they'd brought these stands out, set the stage, organized all their props, _and_ began admitting Pokemon in."

"With a ringmaster like Joker, you have to be able to make last minute preparations," Sneasel explained.

"I feel kinda bad for them," Breloom said. "I'll never get why he's the ringmaster."

"Well, most of the Pokemon in the troupe were rescued by Joker. They were all too weak to look after themselves, and most of them are really bad fighters. And in a world where fighting is the key to success, they're just a band of outcasts, as far as anyone cares," Sneasel told him. "And then along came Joker. He'd taught them everything he knew. Skills and tricks, big and small. Splendor thought to be incapable of realization, to tricks that defy physics as we know it. Everything that is the circus is rooted in Joker's skill and imagination." The Ice-type told him these with a wistful tone in her voice, and her unwavering gaze set on the spectacle before the audience carried, though she would never admit it, a faded wonder.

"Woah," gasped a bewildered Breloom. "He even taught that Dewott Flamethrower?"

Sneasel laughed. "That's not Flamethrower." She glanced around at the rest of the audience, then leaned in close and whispered, "It's a trick, like I mentioned before. Of course he can't use Flamethrower. It's just some Joker 'magic'."

"So it's an illusion? But it looks so real," Breloom whined.

"Not an illusion. The fire is very real. Just some slight of hand." Sneasel explained.

Suddenly, the tent grew dark. The Pokemon that were chattering away quieted down. From the middle of the stage, a single ray of light shone down onto the paint-stained Floatzel.

"Ladies and gentlemon," Joker began, "Welcome to the Knowall Bazaar performance of Joker's Travelling Circus!"

Several beams of light appeared, shining on a large group of Pokemon gathered below, who didn't seem to be there a second ago.

Cheers erupted from the crowd as the beginning of the show as Joker continued in a voice that seemed too loud for someone of his size, "Our first performance," the extra lights turned off, and once again there was just a Floatzel visible in the darkness, "the tiny flying wonders of the Electric-type world," his spotlight shifted to two small figures sitting in the rafters, "Joltik and Dedenne!" The show was stunning. The opening act, Joltik and Dedenne, was a trapeze performance. Two Electric-types swung back and forth with grace as sparks of electricity trailed behind them. They performed flips and spins off each other, striking awe every time they pulled off an impossibly intricate jump. They finished by jumping off the bar and twirling down to the ground, landing on Joker's outstretched paws. The crowd cheered as the three of them took a collective bow.

The second act was tightrope walking. Buneary and Bunnelby walked along two parallel wires, too thin to see from the stands. They held each other's paws until they reached halfway, then with a bounce, they switched wires. Gasps echoed from the audience as the two rabbit Pokemon wobbled up and down, waiting for the wire to settle to continue. They did more risky stunts, back-flipping on the wire, climbing onto each others shoulders, and doing handstands before finally dropping down and landing beside Joker. Once again, the tent filled with applause as the three of them bowed.

The third act was a Seviper and a Grovyle. They started out by explaining, "Don't expect us to climb up onto those tiny perches. We'll entertain you from the ground, thank you." Seviper then stood in front of a large wooden board that stretched about 25 feet up. A box was brought out and Grovyle took out an iron thorn from it. He began throwing thorns at Seviper, outlining the snake's shape. Then Seviper climbed on top of the thorns and stretched his body up as though there was a platform there for him.

Grovyle embedded thorns in the wood right under Seviper's body, creating the platform underneath him. Once Seviper reached the top of the board, he pulled a thorn out with his tail and flicked it down at Grovyle. He outlined Grovyle's shape in the ground behind him, working his way back down. Then the two of them bowed and the crowd applauded.

The next duo was a Dewott and Servine. They performed many tricks involving Fire-type moves, none of which they should be able to know. The crowd applauded at their Fire Spin, dances and Flamethrowers. Joker noticeably kept his gaze towards the audience during this, scanning the audience's reaction intently.

Just as the tension had built to its peak, and the crowd felt like it would burst with sheer awe and amazement, a group of small bird Pokemon burst in. Childish, uppity music began playing as they all fluttered about the tent frantically. Tailow flew through Dewott's flames, his tail feathers catching fire. The crowd laughed as the bird panicked overdramatically, running around and flapping his wings hysterically. Dewott sprayed him down with water, extinguishing the flame.

The flock of birds fled the tent just as suddenly as they entered, leaving all the tension broken as the crowd chattered and laughed. And because of this, the audience was taken by surprise as a huge Flamethrower was shot into the air.

From the flames emerged the elegant shape of a Dragonair, seemingly being enveloped in her partner's fire unharmed. At the center of the stage stood a Charizard, the source of the Flamethrower. The Dragonair danced in the air, followed by a tail of fire. The crowd instantly fell silent as the space above the stage was painted with flame.

Dragonair finished her dance by diving directly down into Charizard's flames, disappearing into his mouth. The crowd went wild with applause as Charizard shot another burst of flame, which took the shape of the Dragon-Type.

Sneasel and Breloom cheered and clapped as Joker came out with all the performers.

"Thank you all very much!" Joker shouted over the crowd, "That concludes our Knowall Bazaar Grand Show! Please be sure to buy toys and food at our stands and check out all the cool things on the main road! Once more, give it up for Joker's Travelling Circus!"

The tent was filled with the joyous cheers of the Pokemon that occupied it.

…

"That was amazing!" Breloom's eyes lit up as he and Sneasel met up with Joker behind the tent.

"Thanks! I knew you'd like it!" Joker grinned.

"How did the Dragonair disappear at the end?" Breloom asked.

"I could show you if you want," Joker offered slyly.

"Quit trying to steal my subordinates," Sneasel told him. "Breloom, we're leaving."

"What, already?" Breloom whined.

"We only came here to watch the show. We've already wasted enough time and I really have to give this to Sableye before anything else happens," Sneasel waved the box of seeds.

"Aww… Okay, bye, Joker," Breloom waved as Sneasel lead him away.

"Bye, Brelbrel!" Joker waved back with a grin.

Sneasel and Breloom left the circus grounds and headed towards Churchwell Village. Breloom gazed almost longingly at all the stands of merchandise on the main road as they passed, but Sneasel was set on her path.

It took the two of them roughly three hours, walking at a leisurely pace in order to not strain Breloom's injury. The sky was colored with vibrant reds and yellows by the time they arrived at Sableye's storehouse.

"I got the goods!" Sneasel called out. A Herdier stood at the desk in the center of the room, and it turned to look quizzically at her.

Sableye came out from the back room with a small disk in his hands and smiled gently at the dog, "here's your TM, ma'am." The Herdier took it gently in her mouth and nodded politely to Sneasel and Breloom as she left. Breloom nodded back. Sneasel paid her no mind.

"I'd greatly appreciate it if you would act less like an errand girl and more like the mafioso that you are," Sableye grumbled to her as he indicated for her and her companion to follow him to the back room. "How would you like it if I just shouted out missions while a couple is looking to adopt one of your kids?"

"My bad," Sneasel said unapologetically as she followed him into the back room.

The back room was much like the main room in that it was filled to the brim with items and tools. It was different in that if one were to give a second glance, they would find these items to be difficult to come across, illegal to sell, or both.

Sneasel held out the box of seeds, and Sableye took it and opened it. He eyed the contents carefully, then sighed. "This was all they had?" he asked.

"Well, yeah. Is it not enough?" Sneasel responded.

"Not nearly. Persian was far too lenient with that Empoleon, so the losses we sustained were quite great," Sableye explained.

"Why would Persian be so forgiving with him?" Breloom asked.

"Apparently the two had history. They used to be buddies or something. I don't know the details." Sableye waved his claws dismissively as he placed the box on a shelf.

"Anyway, as thanks for going out and doing this for me," Sableye picked up a large claw, curved like a hook and as sharp as a blade. "Here." He tossed it to Sneasel, who fumbled a bit before gripping it firmly.

"A Razor Claw," Sneasel whispered, holding it close to her. She smiled faintly to mask her excitement. "Thanks."

"But," Sableye continued with a playful smile, "since you have enough spare time to watch a circus performance before finishing your mission, you get to do another task for me."

"What?! How did you know?" Sneasel exclaimed.

"Espeon told me," Sableye sneered.

" _Damn_ that Espeon… Where was he watching from?" Sneasel growled.

"It's his _job_ to spy on Pokemon." Sableye took out an ornate wooden box with a bizarre lock. It had elegant etchings on its sides that depicted each their own complex scene. The top of it displayed some sort of Yggdrasil upon a hill, with the setting sun behind it. Looking carefully at the trunk of this tree would reveal someone hiding in the shadows. Their species could not be determined, but it was clear that it was humanoid and half-curled into a ball. "I need you to take this to Bisharp," Sableye told her.

"Since when did I become your deliverymon?" Sneasel grumbled as she took the box in her claws and examined it, "Why can't you have one of your guys do it?"

"Do you think Joy Seeds are so easy to find? Everyone skilled enough to handle Bisharp's lair and everyone dumb enough not to know better are out scouring the world to make up for the loss in stock," Sableye scoffed.

"Alright, fine. I'll run your little errand," she scowled. The thought of going to Bisharp's did not sit well with her. "But if you're just gonna give me work _every time_ I come here, don't expect me to visit very often."

"That's fine by me," Sableye huffed.

…

As Sneasel and Breloom walked back to Hazel Town, a calm, almost awkward silence developed between them. Breloom was working on building up the courage to ask to go with Sneasel on this mission. He felt his throat swelling with the words he wanted to say, but he couldn't seem to speak.

Just as he opened his mouth and took in a breath to start, he was interrupted, "Before you even ask, the answer is no." Sneasel told him softly.

"How do you know what I was gonna say?" Breloom exclaimed.

"Because it's obvious. You want to go on another mission despite the missing chunk out of your shoulder," Sneasel sighed. An irritated Breloom looked away. "Listen, I know you want to have the most experience in the field as you can; that you're hoping to be admitted into the Scavenger division. But Bisharp's base is _not_ a place to bring wounded children."

"Why not? It's just a delivery," Breloom protested. "He's an ally. It's not like we're not fighting him or anything."

"This is exactly why you can't come. You have no experience with his division," Sneasel groaned. "They're an entirely different branch than us. Their rules are… stricter. They aren't allies, they're colleagues… no, that's not it. They're the watchdogs. Treason, weakness, hindrance… if they so much as smell any of that, they will not hesitate to kill you. Persian allows it, too. If you're on their list, the only thing you can do is pray that it's quick. Some of them like to have their fun."

"Persian allows them to have such power?" Breloom asked, uneasy.

"The other five divisions aren't able to kill other members of the syndicate so easily. It would be easy for a Guild Pokemon to sneak into the ranks and find out all kinds of stuff. Threats lay both inside and out of the syndicate, and it's up to them to get rid of whoever they are," Sneasel told Breloom.

"It seems rather complicated," Breloom admitted.

"Exactly. Now let's hurry up and get back to Hazel."

…

"Are you sure you don't want any of us to come with you?" Leafeon asked as Sneasel and Murkrow stepped out the front doors of the orphanage. Sneasel had a bag slung across her shoulder, holding the box and the claw, as well as healing items.

"Absolutely. No one is to go anywhere near Bisharp's base," Sneasel told him.

"Alright. Since Breloom is still injured, I'll be watching over the orphanage while you're away."

"I'm counting on you," Sneasel put a hand on Leafeon's head. "Keep these crazy kids out of trouble."

Murkrow led the way as the two of them set off for Knowall Town. At their sprinting pace, it took only an hour to arrive at the town of the library.

"Espeon!" Sneasel called as she entered the building.

"My lord, can't you idiots go a single day without bothering me?!" an irritated voice called from the second floor.

"We need to get to Scarlet City," Sneasel explained.

"Then what the Hell are you doing here? You're literally on the other side of the continent." Espeon came into view on the spiral staircase.

"It would take us days to get there on foot, when you can Teleport us there," Sneasel told him.

Espeon gave a heavy, bothersome sigh as he walked halfway down the staircase, then jumped onto the ground. "Can't birdbrain there carry you?" Espeon asked.

"I can't carry others for long distances," Murkrow explained.

"That's stupid," Espeon sneered.

"We're wasting time," Sneasel groaned.

"Yeah, yeah. Scarlet City, right?" Espeon sat up on his haunches and held out his front paws. "Grab on."

They each took a paw, and under his powers they were clad in a purple light. And just like that, as it burst away, the library was gone. They now stood on searing sands and dirt, blanketed under layers and layers of dry, burning air. Undoubtedly this was the desert city of Scarlet.

"Alright, thanks," Sneasel turned to thank Espeon, but he was nowhere to be seen. "Where'd he go?"

"He already left. Mumbled something about not wanting Bisharp to catch him lurking around here again," Murkrow explained.

"Well, alright then. I haven't been here in awhile, but I believe Bisharp's place is at the edge of the city, right?" Sneasel asked.

"Yep," Murkrow confirmed.

"Then let's go."


	13. Chapter 13: The Mad Jack

Sneasel and Murkrow stopped outside a building on the outskirts of Scarlet City. The main streets had been crowded with Pokemon, but here, there was no one. At least, not out in the open. Sneasel could feel countless eyes watching her from all around, but she dared not look for them. She felt her stomach sink with nervousness, but she strode up confidently to the building.

It was a standard two-story building, but it stood out from all the others around it. Unlike the other buildings that were made of light colored stone, this one was made of red brick. It had a triangular roof, as opposed to the flat roofs of the other buildings. Above the door was a large wooden sign with red paint. On it were the words "Bishie's Butcher Barn" in bold black paint. The paint was chipping on the whole sign, but it looked as if someone had tried very hard to scratch off the word "Bishie."

Murkrow followed Sneasel into the shop, ignoring the dozens of stares burning into his back. Inside was a large waiting room with a reception desk. Behind the desk was a door leading to a back room, and sitting at the desk was a Mandibuzz.

"I have a delivery for Bisharp," Sneasel said as she approached the desk. The Mandibuzz eyed her suspiciously.

"I don't remember the last time _you_ came to deliver something…" she growled in a low tone.

"I owe Sableye a favor, apparently," Sneasel replied.

"Well, too bad for you, the boss ain't in," Mandibuzz sneered.

"Would you be mad if I said I didn't believe you?" Sneasel was feeling ballsy.

Mandibuzz shot her a death glare before replying, "Get out of here. Leave the package on the desk and I'll give it to the boss when he comes in."

"Oh, yeah. I'll just leave the important package for Bisharp in the talons of the receptionist, who is known for her thievery and untrustworthiness," Sneasel rolled her eyes.

The Mandibuzz jumped up onto the desk and flared her wings. "You lookin' for a fight?"

"Sneasel, what are you doing?!" Murkrow hissed into Sneasel's ear. Sneasel brushed him aside.

"Well, I wasn't planning on it, but someone's gotta entertain me while I wait for Bisharp to arrive," she smirked.

"Are you crazy?" Murkrow scolded. "Mandibuzz is stronger than you by like twenty levels, and she's trained to kill!"

"It'll be fine! After all, you're here!" Sneasel responded as she jumped into battle.

Sneasel started off by hardening her claws with a coat of steel and slashing at Mandibuzz with Metal Claw. Mandibuzz easily dodged it and came back with the same attack. Her sharp metal talons barely cut Sneasel's skin as she jumped out of the way.

Murkrow had no choice but to join in, so he flew up from behind and landed a Feint Attack on Mandibuzz's back. As Mandibuzz turned around to retaliate, Sneasel followed it up with another Feint Attack on Mandibuzz's side.

Mandibuzz growled, "You pests, ganging up on me!" She turned on Murkrow and battered him with Fury Attack, kicking and hitting him all over. Murkrow backed off a bit, struggling to stay on his feet, then slapped Mandibuzz with Assurance.

Sneasel blew out a gust of icy air, sending the Icy Wind directly at the Flying-type. Murkrow used Mandibuzz's larger stature as cover from the attack, but Mandibuzz blew the wind away with her Tailwind.

Sneasel didn't give up, using all her effort to overpower Mandibuzz's breeze with her own. Shards of ice shot out of the fray in all directions, but none made it to Mandibuzz. Murkrow battered the larger bird with Wing Attack from behind, but she didn't even seem to notice. Right as Sneasel had to take a breath, the vulture rose up to the ceiling and dove down, dropping onto Sneasel with Brave Bird.

Sneasel was knocked off her feet and slammed into the far wall. She slumped down onto the floor and remained still. Mandibuzz turned and glared at Murkrow, who jumped slightly at the sudden attention.

"You gonna follow your friend, boy?" she asked, her voice low and raspy.

Murkrow looked over at Sneasel, then back at Mandibuzz. He gulped. _I can't believe I'm doing this,_ he thought to himself as he flared his wings in a challenge. Mandibuzz smirked as she towered over him, her size almost tripling that of the young crow.

Murkrow took a deep breath, well aware that the enemy was allowing him the first move. He charged forward, planning a Feint Attack to the Mandibuzz's abdomen, but before he could get close enough, he was swatted away by Mandibuzz's larger wings. Murkrow felt the air leave his lungs as he was catapulted over the desk and landed beside the back door.

With one graceful leap, Mandibuzz landed on top of the desk. Murkrow looked up at her with a mix of defiance and fear. As Mandibuzz prepared another Fury Attack, she suddenly froze as a bright light shone behind her.

Mandibuzz jumped off the desk and moved towards the light. The source of it was being obstructed from Murkrow's view by the desk, but he had a pretty good idea of what it was. Murkrow heaved himself to his feet. His right wing was numb and searing pain ran through his right leg every time he put weight on it. Jumping on top of the desk, Murkrow could see Mandibuzz cautiously approaching the glowing figure.

When the light vanished, Murkrow could see Sneasel standing up against the vulture. Except she wasn't a Sneasel anymore. With the Razor Claw gone from her backpack, she had used it to evolve into Weavile.

"So you finally got your dirty claws on a Razor Claw, huh?" Mandibuzz spat, "Well, that doesn't make you any less of a brat."

"You know, you're awfully chatty when you fight. I guess that's why they put you at the reception desk instead of out on missions," Weavile smirked. Mandibuzz's feathers fluffed up in irritation.

Weavile knew she was stronger than before, but she couldn't just jump back into the fray. The ground below her seemed oddly far away, and her limbs were longer than she was used to. She also felt like she was wearing a really big hat. It would take her a while to get used to this body of hers, which was why she didn't want to evolve before coming here.

Without wanting to risk charging in and tripping over herself, Weavile shot an Icy Wind from where she stood. Mandibuzz snickered and she yet again countered it with Tailwind, but this time the vulture's breeze wasn't strong enough to offset the frozen shards. Pieces of ice ripped through Mandibuzz's skin, and the chilling air seeped right through her bones.

Right as the Icy Wind ceased, Murkrow jumped in. Without missing a beat, he slapped Mandibuzz with Assurance, repaying her for the dull pain he was feeling all across his body.

Just as Mandibuzz was about to return the attack, the sound of a door slamming open echoed through the room, stopping the three of them in their tracks. "What the _fuck_ is going on in here?!" a strong, irritated voice bellowed. Weavile turned to see Bisharp standing with his bladed arms crossed over his chest in the doorway. Cold blue eyes pierced through them with a gaze as sharp as his body.

"Told you he was out," Mandibuzz spat quietly.

"Bisharp!" Weavile yelped. "W-we were just waiting for you to get back to deliver a package."

"While fucking up my damn shop? I should scalp you for that," Bisharp growled. "Pretty sure we could get someone to buy finely sliced Weavile. Cold Ice-type meat in the desert? It'd sell like popsicles."

Weavile looked around. It was true that they had made a mess of the place. Frost had formed on the walls and furniture was knocked over. A picture frame had been knocked off the wall and broken, although there wasn't any picture inside it for some reason. Splats of blood littered the floor and the wall was cracked where Murkrow was swatted against it.

"S-Sorry…" Weavile looked down at her feet as she felt her ears grow hot.

"Oh, then it's all okay now, as long as you're fucking _sorry_. Not many actually know this, but chanting 'sorry' over and over magically solves _aaaaaaall_ your problems. It turns back the fucking clock and makes everyone everywhere happy, and they all hold hands and sing kumbaya. For _fuck's_ sake!" Bisharp stepped into the room and slammed the door. He took a deep breath and put his palm to his forehead. The three looked awkwardly amongst themselves. Bisharp feigned a smile and waved his hands dramatically, saying to them, " _Sorry_ about that." He laughed quietly to himself before dragging himself back on topic. "You said something about a package, didn't you?"

"Oh, yeah." Weavile picked up her bag, which had at some point left her shoulder during the fight, and lifted out the strange box. "Sableye told me to give this to you."

Being the leader of an assassination division naturally would show you a plethora of things that would shatter the mind of a normal Pokemon. Sometimes it was simply monsters- beastly Pokemon that posed a threat to either the syndicate itself or something that they held interests in. Others were formerly Pokemon that now lavished homes with so many different shades of red like a soccer mom went crazy when decorating for Valentine's Day. But this box, shelled in elegant etchings that must have taken a steady hand years to perfect, was the first thing that, as far as anyone in the syndicate knew, actually shocked Bisharp.

The Steel-type froze for a moment with his jaw hanging open, trying to take a dramatic gasp but utterly forgetting how to in the midst of the moment. His body began to tremble as he took slow, heavy steps, his arms pulling out in front of him like they were magnetized towards it and willing to snap off of his own body to get to the chest. And as his sense came back to him, he darted forward in a blur and snatched the box out from Weavile- so fast that in his carelessness he nicked the Ice-type's arm. Weavile quickly jumped away, holding her arm protectively as she stared at Bisharp.

"This…" Bisharp held the box near his face and traced his fingers over it to confirm its reality. "Where did he get this?!" he bellowed with it held protectively against him.

"Like I know. Ask him yourself," Weavile earned a glare from the Assassination leader, but was determined to not let it phase her, "Anyway, we delivered your package, so now we'll be on our way." She shot a final glare at Mandibuzz, who returned it with a cocky smirk, as though she had won somehow.

Murkrow nodded respectfully to Bisharp and followed Weavile out the door and back into the hot desert sun. Bisharp did not so much as move now that the box was in his hands.

"What do you think is in that box?" Weavile asked as they moved towards the center of the town.

"Hmm… Some kind of weird treasure, maybe? An ancient relic from a distant world?" Murkrow suggested.

"I guess it isn't any of our business, anyway," she dismissed the curiosity lingering in her mind. "Whatever's in there is the assassination division's problem. Making it ours doesn't sound sound like a good idea."

"Yeah, I guess you're right," Murkrow shrugged. "But, um, how are we gonna get back to Hazel town?"

"Duh, we'll get Esp-... _shit_ ," Weavile spat.

"I-I'm sure there's a travel Pokemon here who would take us at least to the other side of the mountains," Murkrow stated.

"Yeah, but not for free," Weavile pointed out.

"Well, of course not." There was a silence between the two of them. It wasn't a particularly long silence, but it was long enough. "Don't tell me…" Murkrow began in a low tone, "You don't have any money on you, do you?"

"That box took up a lot of room in my backpack, and paired with the Razor Claw, it was heavy enough without a bunch of Poké," Weavile defended herself.

Murkrow simply gave a long, quiet sigh.

"Something wrong, you two?" Murkrow lifted his head to see a Leavanny standing in front of them. A soft, friendly smile was spread across his face.

"No, sor-" Murkrow began, but Weavile moved in front of him.

"Actually, yes," she admitted. "We came here to Implentur Desert to go sightseeing, as we live over to the west of the mountains, but we seem to have dropped the bag we were keeping our Poké in."

"Well, that is most unfortunate," the Leavanny consoled.

"And without that Poké," Murkrow joined in, mirroring Weavile's lost-puppy tone, "we can't go back home."

"Can't you fly?" Leavanny asked.

"No, sir." Weavile shook her head took a pitied look at her partner. "He's very sickly and frail. He can barely fly by himself, let alone with a passenger as heavy as I am."

Leavanny looked as though he had come across starving orphans on the street. "You poor children. Don't you worry! Come with me and I'll help you get back home."

Weavile and Murkrow exchanged a devious look behind the Bug-type's back as he led them away.

Leavanny walked them out of Scarlet City and towards the sandy dunes of Implentur Desert.

"Um, sir," Weavile raised his attention as she stopped right before the dirt path became open sand, "you don't intend to walk us all the way back home, do you?"

Leavanny laughed. "Good heavens, no! My home is in Sandset City, on the west side of Implentur Desert. It's a bit of a walk from here, but there are Pokemon there that can get you across the mountains."

…

"What are we gonna do?" Murkrow whispered to Weavile.

"Shh! It's fine. Just remember our story, and _don't_ act suspicious," Weavile hissed back.

The three of them were standing outside a large castle-like building.

"What are you two waiting for? Come on in," Leavanny prompted from the large wooden double doors.

"Yes, we're coming!" Weavile smiled as she followed him inside.

The inside was a large room with many Pokemon coming and going. There were bulletin boards on the walls with missions and outlaws.

"I never would've guessed you were the guild leader of Leavanny's Guild," Weavile laughed nervously.

"Yes, I was in Scarlet City on an errand when I encountered you two, but I usually operate around Sunset City, where this guild is located," Leavanny explained, "You two are lucky I came around, or you might have had to walk all the way back!"

 _Just our luck,_ Weavile grumbled to herself. Leavanny looked around the guild hall, scanning the Pokemon going about their daily routines, until he spotted a Zebstrika.

"Zebstrika! Come over here," Leavanny beckoned the Electric-type over with his leaf-like arm. The Zebstrika turned from what she was doing and trotted over. "Can you do me a favor and transport these two to their homes?"

Zebstrika looked down her nose at the two Dark-types, then back at her guildmaster, "Sure thing. Where do they live?"

"West of Sawtooth Mountain Range," Leavanny stated.

"West of- that'll take all day!" Zebstrika exclaimed.

"Then you'd better start now. I already promised them that I'd get them home, and you wouldn't want me to have to take back my word, would you?"

Zebstrika tapped at the ground with her hoof, then mumbled, "no, sir…"

"Good girl!" Leavanny grinned. "I leave them to you!"

Zebstrika watched the guildmaster walk off, then looked down at her two clients with just short of a glare. "Let's go," she demanded.

"You don't have to take us all the way home," Weavile told her as she followed Zebstrika out of the guild hall. "Just past the mountains is fine."

"No," Zebstrika sighed. "I'll escort you two back to your home town. Hop on."

"Th-then, take us back to Hazel Town," Weavile reluctantly agreed as she climbed up onto the zebra's back.

"No problem." Zebstrika waited for the two to sit on her back before breaking into a run. They firmly secured themselves as the Electric-type galloped across the sands, getting faster and faster with each leaping stride. A minute later the air rushed around her in a fierce torrent of wind.

Uncomfortably, the bird shifted towards his comrade. "Well, we got a ride," Murkrow murmured into Weavile's ear.

"Yeah, we're lucky those Guild kids from the caravan didn't report us as bandits," Weavile replied softly.

Zebstrika felt awkward having two Dark-types whispering amongst each other on her back, so she spoke up, "So, you guys are from the west? I heard Joker's Travelling Circus recently performed over there."

Weavile jumped slightly, "Y-Yeah, at the Knowall Bazaar. I went to see the show, actually."

"Really? I'm so jealous! I wanted to go with my friend, because she loves going to the Bazaar, but we got caught up in a bunch of work," Zebstrika explained.

"That's too bad," Murkrow commented.

"Yeah. I've never actually seen Joker's main show before," Zebstrika admitted.

"Really? He performs practically everywhere, though," Weavile pointed out.

"Yeah, but I can't travel very far from the Guild, and I've never been free when he was performing in Sandset," Zebstrika explained sadly. She shook her head and stared ahead brightly, continuing with wonder in her voice, "But I've seen their parades down the main road. I sometimes wish I could join them, they look like they're having so much fun." She paused for a moment, as though envisioning the large floats with the cheering Pokemon all around.

"I've travelled with them for a little while," Weavile stated.

"Really?" Zebstrika couldn't see her, but Weavile could tell her expression was one of amazement and envy.

"Yeah. I'm friends with Joker, so I sometimes accompany them on their travels," she explained proudly.

"I'm so jealous! What's he like? My friend thinks he's really different from how he appears in performances. She says he's probably really mysterious and stoic," Zebstrika enthused.

"No, he's pretty similar to how he appears on stage," Weavile told her. "He's really happy-go-lucky and kinda ditzy at times."

"That's… a bit disappointing, actually," Zebstrika said with a chuckle.

"He's a pretty disillusioning guy," Weavile agreed.

The two of them chatted about all kinds of things, with Murkrow occasionally joining in. They talked about a variety of topics- Guild work, places to eat, hypotheticals, the list was just as long as their journey. Weavile subtly diverted the conversation away from her line of work whenever it was mentioned, but she was more than happy to share stories of her exploits.

"So, you're like a vigilante?" Zebstrika asked as Weavile finished a tale about her defeating a Pokemon that was stealing seeds from her colleagues.

"I… suppose you could say that, although I don't fight for just anyone. Only my friends and comrades," Weavile answered.

"That's pretty cool," Zebstrika smiled. "I don't think I'd be able to live a life like that."

"That's Hazel Town up ahead," Murkrow cut in as their hometown could be seen in the distance. Zebstrika picked up speed until she was running into the town. She skidded to a stop on the dirt path.

"You think you can find your way home from here?" She asked.

"Yeah, we got it. Thanks again for the ride," Weavile thanked her as she hopped off.

"No problem. It was fun chatting with you," Zebstrika gave a bright grin.

"Same to you." Weavile waved as the Electric-type dashed back towards the mountain range. With a spark of electricity her speed increased tenfold, and she vanished into the horizon. "She was nice."

"Yeah. It's a shame we might have to kill her one day," Murkrow responded.

"Mmm, that's true. Let this be a lesson to always bring a bag of cash," Weavile told Murkrow as she turned to walk towards the orphanage.

"Why don't you take your own advice," Murkrow spat back at her as he followed her home.

...

The door slammed shut at the top of the stairs back in Scarlet City. Frames fell off the wall throughout the butcher shop as if it had been struck by a small earthquake. Down in the kitchen the rattling floor shook a Feraligatr in the midst of a cleaving swing, making him miss the steak and cause a huge gash on his left hand.

A panting Bisharp leaned against the door with the elegant box pressed to his chest. His fingers traced over and over the engravings again as if he knew exactly where the curves and grooves would lead him next. A quivering smile cracked on his face as he closed his eyes for a moment.

Without opening them he began to walk forward through his room. Past a grindstone in the corner he reached over to the top of his desk. He firmly grasped onto a key that laid next to a shriveled head of a Celebi, dried and shrunken like it had been created by a witchdoctor. Its eyes were the milky white of the blind, and the two antennae were wilted blades of grass. God knew how many years it had been laying there, and so did Bisharp: eight years, three months, eleven days.

Bisharp sat down softly on his bed and opened his eyes. The chest now sat on his lap with the bizarre lock facing towards him. The Steel-type's motions were gradual as his arm raised itself and crawled over, key in hand, to the slot. There had been not the slightest bit of resistance as he turned it, and the lid opened without even the faintest of squeaks.

He blinked from the luminous glow of heaven's light from the chest and its contents. Soft green eyes, like a spring meadow, looked down with nostalgia at everything within it. He shuddered as trembling hands reached out towards a quill lying next to a dry inkwell, both on top of a stack of parchment. The quill was cold after a decade of neglect, and the well was just as so. Bisharp smiled to himself as he held them up. In the days of his youth they had been warm, and they had been busy within soft hands that gracefully transcribed onto fresh paper with the elegance of a ballroom dance.

Bisharp began to splay out the parchment like a hand of cards. There must have been over a hundred sheets covered in the glyphs of the common language. Poems and short stories covered the pages front to back like ritualistic tattoos. Separating each block of stories and poems, there would be a drawing relating to the contents written down. Some were landscapes stylized in the black ink. More were portraits of Pokemon of a plethora of species in a varying level of detail. Others still were a full scene drawn out like a storybook, like one on top of a thievish Jolteon running out of a farmhouse with half a pie smeared over her face. He remembered the days where he would lay down on the hillside, listening to the rhythmic scribbling of the pen strokes against the paper.

Underneath where the papers had been, there was an even smaller box within. Within, on soft velvet bed, sat a gorgeous, gleaming ruby necklace. Carved in corundum was a much older version of an explorer's badge: a kite shield with two broad wings unfolding from behind it. This too was cold as he cradled it in the palm of his hand.

A broad smile spread across his face as he saw, lying there at the bottom of the chest, a piece of green fabric- an emerald sash. Shuddering breaths filled the silence as he grasped onto it like a starving child to a piece of meat.

"Oh, thank you," he praised, bringing the sash to his face and staring at it lustfully. Saliva flooded in his mouth. Bisharp could only last for a few more seconds before his breaths grew frantic and he brought the sash to his nostrils. His smile stretched from ear to ear. "Even after all this time," he beamed. The emerald fabric now wrapped itself entirely over his nose as he took as deep of an inhale as his lungs would allow, inhaling a scent that hadn't been sensed in well over ten years. And oh, how Bisharp craved it. No breath of any conceivable size could be good enough to quell his urges. Three hits in and he was already collapsed on his bed, clutching it over his nose as he snorted it like a drug. In his head voices began to reverberate off the walls of his skull.

 _Good morning_ , she rang, followed by a quick giggle. There was something almost bitter about just how clear and young she persisted to be.

 _Come, this way_ , she said again. Still the same person, but her tone was different. This was far more demanding but still kept it to being a bit playful. Bisharp turned over in his bed and buried his face in his pillow. He began to noticeably shift and grind his lower body against the blankets, stirring the sheets of paper from their arrangement.

"Gwyn…" he moaned, muffled as he took another sharp inhale.

 _Wow_ … she whispered. It felt like she was right there beside him, her head resting on his shoulder as she spoke softly of sweet things into his ear. _Would you look at that… I thought things like these only existed in fairy tales._

 _Holy shit!_ she exclaimed. Her voice was now panting so heavily that her breaths rivaled the ferocity that Bisharp's snorts had now. _What the hell kind of Pokemon is that?!_ The scene was vivid in his mind- perfectly reserved in his own personal museum to play over and over if he so desired. Across sheer walls of ice he rapidly climbed up the face of the mountain, jabbing the ends of his blades into the cliff faces as he ascended higher and higher. That is until he looked down, and at the base, just past _her_ , a Kyurem stood up on his hind legs and slammed his front ones against the side of the cliff. With as loud of a battle cry as he could manage, he jumped off the wall and plunged towards the legendary.

Before he could complete it, however, another call came to him.

 _You idiot_ , she scolded. _You'd almost gotten yourself killed back there_. A moment passed. Bisharp took a sharp inhale as if that would turn the astral page. It did. _But…_ she said coyly... _if you hadn't… I would have instead_. He felt a warm hand brush gently against his neck and a set of soft lips press against his cheek.

"Oh, Gwyn…" He moaned louder now, assuredly reaching through the floorboards and catching the attention of a bleeding Feraligatr. His squirming against his bed grew more frantic as his body became hotter and hotter.

 _Yes_ … she moaned back. Slender arms embraced him as no one had before.

"Please," he called out to the empty room, begging the universe. Desperation made his voice quake.

 _More… Yes, more…!_ Her voice wailed inside his skull.

"Please, don't-"

Bisharp had been cut off by a thunderous roar bursting inside his room like an explosion. He jumped out of bed and pulled the crumpled sash away from his nostrils. His green eyes scanned the room carefully, trying to take in the world with each panicked breath. Bisharp was alone, with noone but the shrunken Celebi head to accompany him. He heard nothing outside his door, and his windows were perpetually shielded by lavender curtains.

Inside the chest, however, something was moving. Around and around gradually rotated a small crank attached to a music box, engraved with patterns just as elegant as the chest that stored it. A somber, hauntingly beautiful melody came out with each pluck of the strings inside- a siren's lullaby that paralyzed the Steel-type with an eldritch sorcery from another reality. A bitter, watery liquid dripped onto his lap from between the fingers that cradled his face.

"Oh, shit," he bitterly muttered. Sobs broke out of his quivering voice. The tips of this bladed fingers scraped against his face as Bisharp clenched his fists. "Shit, shit, shit, _shit!_ " Desperately a steel-clad hand reached around to grasp whatever it could (in this case, a plate crusted with a reddish sauce) and hurled it towards the wall. It shattered into a hundred small shards that bounced against the wall and _clink_ ed against the floor. The entire house was silent as curious ears pressed as close as they could without alerting Bisharp to their presence.

Gradually his sobs mixed with soft laughter to conjure some otherworldly amalgamation, like the cackle of a dying hyena. Clenched fists moved off his eyes as the otherworldly noise overtook him, weakening his muscles and letting his body crumple upon the floor. He rolled around, back and forth across the wooden floor, for minutes on end as his blades carved into the planks. Fists banged on the floor. Some even broke through to the room below. But no one in the shop _dared_ to check on him. A concerned, curious mind would have been removed from the rest of its body if someone knocked on the door. Hell, when the floorboards broke the Pokemon underneath fled to a neighboring room to avoid being seen. They masked their fears and just waited it out, listening to the rattling chains of the demon they had hoped was fettered in there. This wouldn't be the first purge.

Minutes passed, and finally Bisharp's wails began to die down. The Steel-type just laid there, breathing heavily, eyes closed, and his limbs splayed out as if he were carving an angel into the floor. The music box ended with one last, slow, high note. Throughout the entire shop there was silence. Nothing but deafening silence.

"Finally," he whispered. "Now… To get this shit started."


	14. Chapter 14: Surpassing the Syndicate

In the front yard of the orphanage a small group of children ran about kicking a small ball between them. They mildly scuffled and collided with one another as they shifted back and forth towards twin sticks they had positioned as goals on either side. But however long they had been playing, one by one they all stopped and turned with gleaming eyes towards the path, where two Dark-types were approaching. In the dying chaos Treecko kicked the ball into the side of Pichu's head, but the matter was quickly overcome by the enthused crowd.

"Hey, Sneasel's back!" A Rufflet called to the others. The children came running to greet the two, and more came outside after hearing the bird's call. Weavile and Murkrow were soon swarmed by children of a variety of species.

"Welcome back!"

"Wow! You evolved?!"

"Where have you been?"

"What's for dinner?"

Weavile was barraged by a storm of questions and greetings and was unable to say anything over the noise. "Quiet down!" Murkrow hollered. Gradually they took the hint and, after a moment, grew silent. "Weavile is very tired from her journey and isn't quite used to her evolution yet. Let's let her rest for now."

The children all lowered their heads with a glum collective " _awww._ "

"But don't worry, I can still tell you _all_ about it as she rests. Everyone- to the main hall," Murkrow told them. The crowd's faces brightened again at the prospect of story time and they all began following Murkrow inside.

"Big kids stay here," Weavile called. From the crowd, the children that were trained for criminal life stopped and turned to stand in front of Weavile. Gathered in front of the orphanage were Leafeon, Spearow, Pichu, and Breloom, and in front of them were Treeko, Stunky, Patrat, and Furfrou. Weavile looked over the four in front, then waited for all the other children to leave earshot before saying, "So you four were the ones that were chosen for training?" The four of them nodded nervously. "Alright, let's go up to my room."

Weavile led the eight younger Pokemon into the orphanage and up the stairs to her office. Inside was a large wooden desk and a bunch of chairs of varying size. Weavile closed the door once they were all inside, and then turned to Breloom.

"How much have you told these new recruits so far?" she asked.

"We've explained all about the syndicate and the specific divisions within it," Breloom responded.

"Alright. Here's the deal: normally I wouldn't have such a large amount of trainees at once, but our boss, Persian, is being secretive. I feel like this is a good time to spread some discord among the divisions," Weavile explained, "I was able to get some information from Sableye that it seemed Persian didn't want me to know, so we'll use that."

"What exactly do you have in mind?" Leafeon asked.

"A select few of you will go on a very important mission. One will go to Persian's place. The other's gonna spread some rumors over at the Intelligence place," Weavile explained.

"What kind of rumors?" Spearow tipped his head.

"Tell them that Persian had ties to a rich noblemon, and that he offed him secretly," Weavile stated. "And _now_ the noblemon's allies (who have ties with the Guilds) are searching for the murderer."

"Aaand, what'll that do?" Stunky asked quietly.

"I'm glad you asked, my dear," Weavile grinned. "Spreading such a rumor will tell Persian's subordinates that he is careless and acts on personal feelings. Everyone knows Persian is impulsive, and it's fairly common knowledge that he had some connection to that Empoleon. It isn't that unbelievable a tale."

"I see…" Breloom responded. "The Pokemon will think that he put them in danger. Naturally, that won't make them pleased."

"Precisely!" Weavile was growing more and more excited.

"But why do you want to do this?" Patrat asked. "Isn't he our boss?"

Weavile paused for a moment before she whispered, "I'm only telling you this because you're technically part of this mission, even if you're just a decoy…" She looked around the room carefully, staring into every corner and crevice and shadow around her. Nothing. "We're doing this so I can overthrow Persian."

The children were all silent. This was the first any of them had heard of this plan.

"But," Leafeon spoke up, "if you're head of the syndicate, who's gonna take care of us?"

"Someone will take my place," Weavile smiled. "Just as I took over someone else's spot. And someone took over that someone's spot... Anyway," she clapped her hands and swept her eyes across the small crowd in front of her. "I'm going to have Breloom go to Espeon's library and tell him the rumor. You haven't inputted information there before, so I'll brief you on that in a moment." Breloom nodded dutifully, secretly excited to be given the most important job. "And the important and dangerous mission of going to Persian's mansion will go to Spearow, since he can get there fastest."

"Okay, but why do I have to go there?" Spearow asked.

"To tell Persian about this rumor," Weavile responded.

"What? Wouldn't we _not_ want him to hear of this?" Pichu asked.

"No, tell Persian that someone is spreading rumors about that Empoleon having ties to a Guild. This will cause Persian to feel some distrust towards his subordinates, and he might also look into the truth of the matter. If his second-in-command, Arcanine, starts asking around about that rumor, it'll come off as Persian believing it might be true, which will show that he is not confident in his knowledge," Weavile told them. "See?"

The children were silent, trying to understand the gravity of this plan.

"Okay, I think that's about it. Spearow, prepare to leave at any time. We'll give Breloom some time to place the information, so expect to be sent off around tomorrow afternoon," Weavile told Spearow, who nodded. "That's all. Everyone is dismissed, except Breloom. Remember, not a word of this to anyone." The group of Pokemon slowly left the room, and Weavile closed the door behind them.

"Now you'll tell me about inputting information at Espeon's library?" Breloom presumed.

"That's right. It isn't as simple as walking up and telling him," Weavile responded as she moved towards the small bookshelf in the corner of the room. "No one knows who's part of the Intelligence division, as it is made up of a completely anonymous group. When you go in, you'll check out a book. It doesn't matter which book you take." She grabbed a book and held it up as if he didn't know what the utterance "book" was supposed to signify. "You'll take it and leave the library. But before you go, you'll take one of the bookmarks that Espeon gives out at his desk. This is the important part," She moved to her desk and opened a drawer, taking out a small white slip of paper.

"The bookmark?" Breloom eyed the paper, looking for some hidden secret.

"This is one of his bookmarks. You have to take one when Espeon isn't looking, or, if you're lucky, you'll find one in one of the books on the shelf. These bookmarks are the key to the entire system, because..." With a coy smile Weavile carefully peeled apart the bottom of the bookmark to reveal an opening. "These are the envelopes for the information. You will write the rumor on a small scrap of paper and slip it into the bookmark. Then when you return the book, grab another book and keep the bookmark tucked in the pages of the second one. Then leave the book on a table. Usually the bookmark would be returned to Espeon, but if you do that, he'll know you were the one who gave him the false information. If you keep it in the book, when Espeon returns the book to the shelf, he will find the bookmark with the information inside, but won't have any way of telling who wrote it."

"I see… I think I got it, although it's quite a bit more complicated than I would have imagined," Breloom admitted.

"Yes. If you don't do it right, you'll be found out, and you'll most likely be killed," Weavile warned, "Since you're a good friend, I won't make you do this if you don't want to. I can have someone else go."

Breloom was silent for a moment, then he puffed out his chest, "No, I'll do it. You gave this mission to me because you believe I can handle it. I won't let you down."

"'Atta boy!" Weavile grinned, "You're dismissed now. Go cause some trouble." Breloom smiled and left the room. Weavile stayed in her office for a moment, then left for the main hall.

…

The next day, Weavile met with Murkrow and the two children that would bring her plan into action outside of the orphanage. The morning was bright and clear, without a cloud in the sky. Weavile was feeling quite giddy, finally being able to make progress in her take over of the Pokemon mafia. Breloom and Spearow were excited as well, since they have been entrusted with such an important mission. Spearow was especially excited, since not only was it his first time going to Skyspear Mountain, but before this, all he had been doing was grunt work that no one else could be bothered to do.

Weavile had made sure to tell all the children to play either inside or in the backyard this morning, so as not to overhear anything.

"Are you insane?!" Murkrow exclaimed.

"I prefer 'ambitious'. There aren't many opportunities to deal some damage on Persian, so I'll take what I can get," Weavile responded, "Besides, they've both already agreed that they can do it, didn't they?" She turned to look at Spearow and Breloom.

"Yes. I'm confident I'll succeed," Breloom answered.

"You two realize if you get caught-"

"We'll be killed, we know." Spearow stated. "But that won't be a problem, so long as we don't get caught." His beak contorted into a smirk.

"This is not the time to act cocky," Murkrow warned.

"It'll be fine, you worry too much," Weavile waved away.

"No, _you_ don't worry at all," Murkrow spat. "You can't just send kids out to their deaths!"

"Oh, so you don't believe they can do this?" Weavile asked with a hint of offense.

"No, that's not- it's just…" he stammered.

Breloom cocked his head. "Just what?"

Murkrow was silent, trying to find the right words that would talk them out of this. He found none. "Just… Be careful," he said with a sigh.

"And with that, get going," Weavile ordered.

"Alright. I'll be back before you know it!" Breloom nodded and raced off towards Knowall Town.

Weavile, Murkrow, and Spearow watched him race down the street until he was out of sight. "So, Spearow," Weavile said to him. "Do you want to set off for the mansion on Skyspear Mountain now, or wait until later?"

"I… I'll go now. If I wait, I might lose my nerve…" Spearow admitted.

"Alright. Be off, then. The mansion is about halfway up the mountain," Weavile pointed towards the mountain in the distance, tearing through the sky like a blade. Spearow took a deep breath, then took flight, reciting what he was going to say to Persian over and over in his head.

"Do you honestly think this will go well?" Murkrow asked as the two waved at the distancing Spearow.

"Not entirely," Weavile responded. "I doubt it'll go completely as I plan, but at least one of them will be successful."

"You're the worst," Murkrow groaned as he turned to return inside.

"Well, I _am_ a criminal," Weavile snickered, following him.

…

Breloom arrived at the library after an hour's travels, panting. He took a deep breath to regain his composure before entering the library. Inside, there were a few Pokemon sitting at the many tables. Breloom looked around for the keeper of the library, to find he was nowhere to be seen. The Grass-type moved towards one of the bookshelves and ran his eyes across the books. The titles were in alphabetical order, which Breloom thought was an odd way to organize them, but he had heard that Espeon categorizes the books differently all the time.

Breloom moved to a book titled _The Nightingale,_ by Kristin Hannah. Breloom stared at the name for a moment. He had heard of Pokemon having given names, although it was uncommon, but having two names? Looking at all of Kristin's neighbors revealed nearly all of them had names like that, and even though almost every book was the same size, with the same solid red cover, the gold letters on them were all different, all were written by different authors.

Breloom shook his head. _Now isn't the time to marvel at Espeon's collection,_ he thought to himself. He took the book and moved out of the row of bookshelves, to find that at some point, Espeon had returned to his desk. Breloom stepped casually up to the old mahogany desk near the back of the room.

Espeon was sitting behind the desk, using his psychic abilities to rapidly scrawl text onto a piece of parchment. Breloom wasn't sure if the Psychic-type saw him standing there, so he spoke, "U-uhm… I'd like to-"

"I didn't know you were the intellectual type," Espeon interrupted.

"I'm sorry?" Breloom blinked.

"You're Sneasel's kid, aren't you?" Espeon looked down his nose at the Grass-type.

"I-I am…" Breloom responded uncertainly.

"I didn't know you were the type to enjoy reading books," Espeon restated.

"Oh, yeah. I like reading a lot. I used to read the books that Weavile has-"

"Weavile? So she finally evolved, huh?" Espeon interrupted.

"Er, yeah. I used to read the books on her shelf, but I finished them all, so she told me I could find more here," Breloom lied.

"She was lying to you." Espeon stated.

"Um, what?" Breloom stuttered.

"Yes, despite common belief, you can't actually find _books_ in a library," Espeon explained in an almost patronizing voice. Breloom didn't know how to respond, so he simply stared with his mouth open. "I'm kidding. Arceus, you're as rigid as glass. One would think you're expecting me to jump at you at any second." The quill continued swerving along the paper, writing paragraphs of jumbled cursive, as Espeon stood up and glanced at the book in Breloom's claws. " _The Nightingale,_ huh? Let's see…" In a flash of light, he disappeared, then reappeared a split second later near a filing cabinet.

Breloom glanced at the small tray of bookmarks on the desk, then back at Espeon. The Psychic-type's back was turned. Breloom quickly snatched a bookmark and slipped it into the pages of his book. Espeon took out a large binder and marked something in it, then shoved it back in the cabinet and came back to his desk.

"You're all set," he told Breloom.

"Thanks," Breloom responded with a relieved smile.

"Have that book back by the end of the week," Espeon stated.

"I will," Breloom ensured.

"Be sure you do. If you want to know what happens if you miss a due date…" Espeon gazed around the room until his eyes fell upon a battle-worn Primeape. A chunk of his ear was missing, and three claw-like scars ran diagonally down his entire body. "Just ask that guy." Espeon nodded to him. Breloom gulped at the thought of how painful that punishment must have been. _And to think how much worse off I'd be if I get caught,_ he thought gravely. "I'm kidding." Espeon added after seeing Breloom grow pale. "He was already like that."

Breloom forced himself to chuckle as he headed for the door. He was relieved to finally be back out on the main street of Knowall Town. _The hard part is over,_ he thought to himself. Breloom went to the Knowall Park, which was still littered with remnants of the Bazaar, and sat down on a bench. He slipped the bookmark out of the pages of the book and took the prewritten note out of his bag. He could feel his heart beat faster in his chest as he slid the paper inside the opening in the bookmark.

 _Perfect,_ he thought with a sigh. Now all he had to do was wait long enough to make it seem like he read it, then return the book and slip the bookmark into another book, leave it on a table, then leave. Breloom looked down at the book in his lap, thinking to himself. If he completes this mission, he's sure to be promoted out of the Renaissance division. Breloom was hoping to be sent to the Scavenger division, as he had respected and admired Sableye ever since he was a little Shroomish.

Breloom still remembered the first time he had seen Sableye. He had just been recruited for the syndicate, and still didn't have a firm grasp on what that entailed. When he saw Sableye enter the main doors to the orphanage, he could tell the Ghost-type wasn't looking to adopt. Sableye's aura was so different than anyone he'd ever met; he was cool and composed, yet somehow he seemed distanced and hard to approach.

The Shroomish's trainer, a Hoothoot, noticed him gazing at Sableye as he made his way up to Weavile's - Sneasel's, at the time - room, and explained, "That's Sableye, the leader of the Scavenger division." Shroomish had heard of the Scavenger division and what they did, but he had considered them to be unimportant. He thought of the Scavenger division as lackeys that ran around gathering items because they didn't have the skill to fight.

Shroomish watched Sableye disappear behind the large door leading to the matron's room. He was prompted to return to the game he had been playing, but he brushed his friends off and went up the stairs to the room Sableye had entered. The Grass-type didn't dare get any closer than five feet from the door, so he strained to hear what the two Pokemon inside were saying.

"Don't fuck with me!" The unmistakable voice of Sneasel was loud enough for Shroomish to hear quite clearly. "First you shove this embarrassment onto me, and now you're saying I have to share my position with him?!"

 _She's probably talking about Murkrow,_ Shroomish thought. Murkrow had just arrived at the orphanage a few days ago. He was kind and gentle, if not a bit skittish. It made sense for him to be considered an embarrassment in their line of work.

"Listen, I didn't decide this. These orders come straight from Persian," Sableye responded, his voice a lot quieter compared to Sneasel.

There was silence for a moment, and Shroomish was worried he couldn't hear what they were saying. Then Sneasel spoke again, "Why are _you_ telling me this?"

"I'm sorry?"

"I heard the Intel division's leader woke up recently. After a four-year-long nap, you'd think he'd be all rested up and ready to work."

"It takes time to recover after being out that long, dumbass… Anyways. You'll teach him about training the brats here, got it?" Sableye ordered in a firm, authoritative voice, especially so considering his size.

"And if I don't want to?" Sneasel's asked. Even from the other side of a wall, Shroomish could hear her claws rake together.

"Then you'll have to take that up with Persian. I'd love to take you on here and now, but I have better things to do with my time." Shroomish panicked as he heard Sableye's footsteps approach the door. _Run or hide, run or hide?!_ he repeated over and over in his head.

Shroomish shuffled down the stairs as he heard the door slam open. He glanced back up just in time to see Sneasel throw a book at Sableye before the door swung closed again. The Ghost-type glared at the door that blocked him from his attacker, then in one huge leap, he landed at the bottom of the stairs.

Shroomish stood startled at Sableye's sudden advancement, and stared with wide eyes. Sableye looked down at him, then paused for a moment before asking, "You one of the kids she's training?" Shroomish nodded, speechless. "Well, your boss is fucking insane. Make sure you get out of this madhouse as fast as you can." He then turned to leave.

Shroomish had to force himself to speak up before the Sableye was out of earshot, "u-uhm…!" Sableye stopped and turned back towards him. "Y-You're from the Scavenger division…?"

"I am."

"Do… Do you like it?" _Surely someone as strong as Sableye wouldn't be picking berries of his own volition._

Sableye gave a big, toothy grin. "Wouldn't trade it for the world," he said enthusiastically, then ruffled his hand through the foliage on top of Shroomish's head before leaving the orphanage like an athlete into the locker rooms.

...

Breloom stared wistfully up at the midday sky, imagining what Scavenger life was like. Were the Pokemon there friendly? He was sure he would make at least a few friends who shared his interests. It would be fun to go out and explore the world, searching for rare items that would benefit the syndicate.

 _The Syndicate…_ Those two words echoed in his skull. After all this time he knew without a doubt that this syndicate was a crime organization. The Guild worked tirelessly day and night to grasp concrete evidence of their existence, and Weavile and her colleagues worked just as hard to make sure there was none. After hearing so much about everything they've done, Breloom knew what they were doing wasn't right.

 _But what else can I do?!_ he mentally screamed. The orphanage was his entire world. Weavile's face was the first one he saw when he hatched, and it was Murkrow's kind words that gave him hope when he was passing the most popular age for adoption. Breloom thought of the two of them almost like parents. Sure, he felt betrayed when he first found out their real line of work, but they're also just being used by the syndicate.

Breloom sat there on the park bench, deep in thought. He never really had the time to actually sit down and just think things through. He's thought about escaping the syndicate before, but he always had some duty or another to fulfill, plus he always felt the watchful eyes of Weavile on him, so he brushed the thought away. But now, Weavile was too far away to do anything, and she didn't expect him back for a few hours at minimum. By the time she gets suspicious, he could be halfway across the continent.

The young Grass-type grew excited at this thought, but he suddenly shot himself down. _The syndicate has bases all over the continent._ It was as he originally thought: there is no escape from the syndicate. _Unless,_ he thought as he lifted his head again, _I go to Treasure Town._ Treasure Town was the location of Gallade's Guild, home of heroes and icon of justice, ready to shelter anyone who would take their pledge and live by it. If he were to become an apprentice there, not only would he be protected from Persian, but he'd also get to travel the world as an Explorer.

He thought the idea sounded very appealing. _I'll finish this job, then I'll disappear under their wing,_ Breloom decided. He looked up at the sun, which had already began its descent back down towards the horizon. The Grass-type stood up and headed back towards the library, excitement bubbling up in his chest.

…

Breloom took a deep breath before entering the library once again. Even though it was the middle of the day, the library was unusually empty, compared to the noise of the orphanage that Breloom was used to. Breloom looked around for Espeon, but once again, the librarian was nowhere to be found. There was a small box by the desk labeled "Book return," so Breloom deposited the book there. The bookmark was safely hidden in Breloom's bag as he returned to the shelves.

He skimmed over the titles, wondering if he should put at least _some_ thought into the book that would bring about such important information. Finally, his gaze fell upon _Gangster_ by Lorenzo Carcaterra. _As good a book as any,_ Breloom thought as he lifted it out from between the two books that held it in place. Breloom moved to one of the tables in the middle of the room and sat down, looking around the entire room. There was a Totodile in the children's books section, laying on his stomach on top of a colorful mat, with a thin book open in front of him. A Delcatty sat at a table on the opposite side, a large stack of cookbooks in front of her. Neither of the two paid him any mind, and no other Pokemon could be seen in the library.

It was all well and good that the librarian was out, so that Breloom wouldn't have to worry about being caught. Something about it unnerved him, however. He had to keep in mind that Espeon could Teleport back into the room whenever he pleased. As Breloom slipped the bookmark into the book, then set it on the table, his eyes wandered over to the old maple desk. The desk looked like it had been through decades of use, and it was obviously the oldest thing in here.

Breloom stepped slowly towards it, getting more and more nervous with each step, as though he expected a ghost to jump out of it and attack him. He stopped in front of the desk, examining it closer. It appeared to have originally had some kind of pattern painted onto it in a deep scarlet color, but at this point, there was barely even an outline of the old design, with small specks of paint here and there. The mahogany didn't match any other furniture in the room, and Breloom had to wonder why Espeon had such a peculiar desk. The quill that the Psychic-type had been using before was (thankfully) sitting motionless next to a small inkwell. Breloom chuckled to himself as he thought of what he would have done if he had came over here to find the quill still frantically scribbling ink onto the parchment.

With a relieved little sigh, Breloom turned on his heel and strode out the front doors. With each step, he felt a great weight lifting off his chest. _I have done what I was sent here to do,_ he thought joyously, _and now begins my new life!_

…

Spearow sat nestled between the branches of a large tree, hidden from the many predators lurking around him. He had flown there lazily, burning half a day before he arrived, in order to give the rumors time to spread. His heart was racing with a mix of excitement and fear.

 _I think it's been long enough,_ he thought to himself, then he took flight, flitting between the tree branches to avoid being seen by the larger birds above him. The forests of Skyspear Mountain were always filled with enemies, and he had been advised to be as cautious as possible. Once he arrived at the broken down mansion in the middle of the forest, he paused for a moment to slow his heartbeat.

If he showed any fear here, he might be snatched away, but if he walked with enough confidence, it's possible to bluff his way through. As Spearow flew up to the entrance (the doors had been ripped off yet again), he puffed out his chest and stepped into the building. Whether it was because he successfully made himself look tougher or the native Pokemon simply didn't care, Spearow remained unharmed as he flew up to the second floor and made his way towards the master bedroom.

He could tell which way to go because every other room and hallway were noticeably cleaner. While there were some claw marks and blood splatters here and there, Spearow could tell most of the fights that took place in this indoor battlefield were between the entrance and the master bedroom.

Standing outside the doors to the master bedroom where the boss made his base was a great Arcanine. The mighty dog stared down at the approaching Spearow with such intensity, Spearow thought he was going to burst into flames.

"What business do you have here." Arcanine's voice was like a great volcano; low and rugged.

"I…" Spearow trailed off. The intimidation he was feeling was stronger than anything he'd ever felt. The sheer pressure of Arcanine's stare, cold and piercing, made Spearow's legs weaken. _I could turn around now,_ he thought to himself, _I could still walk away._ Right now, that didn't sound like a pretty bad idea. _But,_ he clenched his jaw, _Weavile trusted this to me._ He looked up at the Fire-type with confidence and started again. "I have news for Persian from the Renaissance division."

Arcanine stared with silence for a moment, as though trying to judge if Spearow's words were true, then responded simply, "Very well." He nudged the door open with his nose and gestured for Spearow to go in.

Spearow stepped into the room and stood in front of the king sized bed, where the Classy Cat Pokemon lay. Persian lifted his head and looked down his nose at the little bird before him.

"Is this a new food delivery service or something?" he asked.

"N-No, sir… I'm from the… I'm from the Renaissance division," Spearow stuttered.

"Oh, really? How interesting that Weavile would send one of her beloved pets out here." Persian grinned as he slid off the bed and prowled towards his visitor. Spearow had to try very hard not to back away. "Although it's rude of her to send such a weakling to visit me."

"I-It's because…" Spearow's words were sticking in his throat. "It's because… I have important information for you, a-and… I can fly, so, um…"

"I see. Delivering the information is more important than the messenger's safety…" Persian chuckled. "That Weavile is so two-faced." He had made his way behind Spearow, and was now circling slowly around him.

"I-I came to tell you…" Spearow focused on staring down at his feet, "I came to tell you on Weavile's behalf… That someone is spreading rumors that could harm the syndicate."

Persian stopped. "Rumors? About what?"

"W-Well… The rumors claim a noblemon we killed had ties to the Guild, and they're now looking for vengeance…" Spearow explained. "O-Or something along those lines…" he added.

"A noblemon… The one Weavile killed, presumably."

"Y-Yes… She expresses concern because she was directly involved in the murder, so…"

Persian snickered. "That overgrown duck doesn't have any Guild friends. Go tell her she's full of shit." He began making his way back to his bed.

"I-I'm sorry?" Spearow grew nervous, thinking he might have seen through Weavile's plan.

"She's just trying to get my sympathy using a convenient rumor floating around. Tell her, word for word, that she is full of shit," Persian clarified. "Now get lost before I get hungry."

"Y-Yessir!" Spearow swiftly flew out of the room and down the hall, not looking back until he was in the safety of the trees.

He rested on a tree branch to catch his breath. As he sat there, he saw an Espeon with red glasses walking up the path below him. There was no mistaking him; that was the Intelligence leader. Spearow held his breath as the Espeon approached. He didn't seem to notice the bird at first, but as Espeon grew closer to the tree he looked directly at Spearow.

Spearow tensed as the two locked eyes. He wanted to flee, but he didn't dare move. Espeon continued walking, not once breaking eye contact or even blinking as he passed the tree, then turned back towards the road in front of him and disappeared behind the trees and bushes.

 _What was that?_ Spearow thought with worry, _Does he know?_ If Espeon had known, it made no sense for Spearow to still be alive, after being discovered a traitor. Espeon could have easily defeated Spearow, due to his great level advantage.

 _There's no use worrying over it,_ Spearow decided. It'd be better to get back to the orphanage as soon as possible and ask Weavile about it.

…

Weavile paced in front of the orphanage. It had been a full day since she sent Breloom off, and she was growing impatient. It shouldn't take that long just to check out a library book.

"Calm down, Weavile," Murkrow attempted to soothe her, "This kind of mission takes time. You wouldn't want them to rush and fuck it up."

"I know, I know." Weavile sat down on the steps leading to the front doors, then immediately stood back up as she saw Spearow approaching. "Spearow!" She called.

"Weavile, Murkrow," Spearow greeted the two as he landed in front of them, out of breath.

"How'd it go?" Weavile asked impatiently.

"I don't know. But I'm worried about something," Spearow began, "After I told Persian, I was spotted by-"

"Weavile." A voice came from behind the Dark-type, causing her to jump forward with a yelp. The instant her feet left the ground she knew who the culprit had to be, and the fear turned to quick-burning but harmless anger.

" _Damn_ it, Espeon!" she exclaimed as she clutched overdramatically at her heart.

Espeon's eyes met Spearow's as he swept over the three. Spearow tensed, fear building up inside him. Then Espeon blinked back to Weavile, "You've been summoned."

"To the mansion? Why?" Weavile asked.

"No, not by Persian. You've been summoned by the Interrogation division." Espeon clarified.

Weavile visibly tensed. "The Interrogation division?" she repeated as if uttering a hex.

"The Interrogation division," Espeon confirmed, with a hint of irritation in his voice.

"W-why?" Weavile asked.

"Well…" Espeon's gaze travelled once again to the small bird, and he cracked a mocking smile. "It's a surprise. But you'd better hurry." He was then coated in his psychic light and disappeared.

Spearow, having been unable to say anything in front of the Psychic-type, spoke up. "Interrogation division? What's that?"

"The seventh division of the syndicate," Murkrow responded.

"Seventh? But I thought there were only six," Spearow tipped his head.

"The Interrogation division isn't very well known. It's made up of only one Pokemon, so it makes sense that it goes unnoticed," Murkrow explained. "It's the ghost division, in more ways than one."

" _Fuck!_ " Weavile kicked over the trash can that sat at the entrance to the orphanage. As it fell onto the floor it vomited up crumpled papers and apple cores. " _Damn it_ , Breloom…!" She growled and clenched her fists. "You had _one_ job!"

"But Espeon would've told us we were caught, wouldn't he?" Murkrow pointed out.

"That's the thing," Spearow spoke up, "When I was at Skyspear Mountain, he saw me and seemed to recognize me." Weavile looked at Spearow. He took this as a sign to continue, "But he didn't say a word to me and just kept walking, so maybe he just recognized me as one of your-"

"No," Weavile hissed through clenched teeth. "That poker-faced bastard played innocent on purpose. He's _toying_ with us." She set her sharp gaze into the distance. "The piece of shit is gonna get it one of these days… But not today. I'll have to go to Carrion Woods now."

"Carrion Woods?" Spearow echoed. "I thought that was just a rumor that's used to scare children."

"Oh, it exists, alright," Weavile sighed. "But you aren't gonna see it today, got it? Under no circumstance are you to follow me." Without waiting for a response, she broke into a sprint and raced into the distance.

…

Carrion Woods was a mystical area that rarely anyone actually knew existed. Deep in the forest there was the smallest Mystery Dungeon ever found, less than an acre in size and home to no Wild Pokemon. The formations it took were not typically dungeon-like, making it safe to build there, so naturally, someone had. Bushy pine trees with white trunks periodically appeared in new places, blocking out the sun in their thick canopies like an umbrella of pine needles. From the second you could see those white pines, the smell would hit one's nostrils, regardless if you're a Slurpuff or a Durant. The noise of the surrounding forest would die away, and all one could hear was a cold wind rustling through the trees. Life did not stir here in Carion Woods

Time did not stir here either. No matter what time of year, it was cool and crisp like fall. Needles and dirt crunched underneath Weavile's feet as she walked. She listened to them. Even for someone like her who has witnessed countless murders of all varying techniques and levels of cruelty, it was difficult to proceed here. This was different. Focusing on the sound of her own steps helped soothe her.

It took a little bit of searching, as even the structure moved around, but there it was, illuminated only by two faded rays of sunlight: an old shack surrounded by the decaying bodies of many Pokemon of varying species. The dirt was soft and loose, like wet sand, and it seeped between her claws with each step. She tried to look strictly at the ground in front of her, but she couldn't help but to look at the mangled figures.

A Lombre with the lily pad on its head ripped off and his skull cracked open for the gray matter that made up its brains to spill out, a large 21 written on its forehead in black ink, lay staring up at the trees. A Sandile with its lower jaw broken and dangling limply open sat crumpled on the ground. An unknown but rather large object sticking out of its mouth, but Weavile didn't want to get a closer look. She _could_ see, however, the number 27 written on the crocodile's stomach, with the same ink and handwriting as the previous body. A Bonsly, who looked disturbingly young, was split clean in half and was still bleeding, its organs spilled out on the grass in front of it and the three orbs on its head ripped off and carelessly thrown far, far away. On the back of its head was the number 29.

Weavile hurried inside the shack, not caring to examine any more of the mutilated corpses that littered the area around her. The shack was made of wood that absorbed the smell of rain and the stench of blood, and the smell that resulted was suffocating. The shack was void of furniture or objects in general. It held only a hatch. Weavile took a deep breath before opening it, revealing a hole leading down into the darkness. There was a metal ladder on the wall, so Weavile gripped the bars and began her descent.

About thirty feet down, Weavile heard a loud slam, and the light that had been coming in from above suddenly disappeared. Weavile's heart raced and she desperately tried to calm down before proceeding. As she went deeper underground, she could see light coming in from below. With the bottom finally in sight, Weavile picked up speed and dropped down the last twenty feet. The vertical tunnel dropped her directly in the middle of a room made of stone. The walls were about ten feet high, making it impossible for small Pokemon to climb back out.

In the room was a table with four chairs and a bed in the corner. The bed looked like it hadn't been used in weeks, but the chairs were all pushed out as though whoever was sitting in them got up very suddenly. One had fallen on its back in its host's fit of rage. Two torches hung on opposite walls, illuminating the room with their dancing light. Yet the floor was still cold beneath her feet.

One the wall closest to the table was a steel door with a small window on it, although it was tinted reddish brown from what Weavile assumed was dried blood. Suddenly, a shadow began emerging from the door, phasing through the steel. Weavile jumped slightly as it grinned at her, its vibrant purple eyes locking onto her like a hawk spotting its prey. As it stood in front of her, it revealed itself to be a Banette.

Weavile had encountered a few Banettes in her line of work, but _this_ one always sent chills down her spine. He smiled in such a way that one couldn't imagine him being anything other than a murderer. He was always looking at Pokemon as though he was thinking about how he was going to dismember them, yet his eyes held an innocent, almost childlike curiosity.

"Weavile. What a surprise." The Banette's voice was melodic and taunting.

"Cut the shit, Kuroba." Weavile put on her mask of her usual spunk. "You summoned me here, now tell me why."

"'Summoned,'" the Banette dubbed Kuroba echoed. "What a funny choice of words. However, I didn't ' _summon_ ' you."

"You didn't?" Weavile it clicked. _Damn Espeon,_ she growled to herself, _I swear, if he's watching from somewhere…_

"Nope. I've been having fun all by myself for the past few hours," Kuroba hummed, gazing over at the table. "It reminds me of my school days… We used to dissect all kinds of things for biology. Dead fish, flowers… Mushrooms…" His permanent grin seemed to stretch wider as he shifted his gaze back to Weavile.

Weavile felt her blood run even colder than usual, but she spoke with unwavering certainty. "Is that so?" She wanted desperately to look away, but Kuroba's eyes were like two black holes, sucking her further in.

"Mmhmm. Espeon gave me a cool new toy a while ago. Wanna see?" Kuroba asked.

Weavile hesitated, but only for a split second, "Sure."

With a pleased hum, Kuroba opened the steel door behind him and propped it open with a chair. Weavile noticed there wasn't a doorknob on the other side. He then gestured for Weavile to enter, so she did, reluctantly. Beyond the door was a smaller room, equipped with all sorts of tools sitting on shelves. Scissors of all sizes, to chipped and dulled axes, to spades that seemed to have been bent and warped over countless years, to weird combinations of objects combined to form some mechanical monstrosity that only the truly twisted would be able to make sense of… and every one of them had been rusted to a sickly bronze hue. On the far wall was another door, a smaller wooden one marked "closet."

It was in the middle of the room, was a single metal chair, where her fear became real, for strapped into the chair by his hands and feet was a barely recognizable Breloom. His head had been contorted back with his mouth gaping open, far wider than what he should have been naturally capable of. Blood and bile mixed together inside and trickled over the edge of his lips as bits of what was once him floated on the surface to form a big bowl of massacre soup. The cap of the mushroom on his head had been torn to shreds in some parts, and the frills on his neck littered the floor like wrapping paper on Christmas morning. And etched into his thigh was a single number written in surprisingly concise calligraphy: 30.

"Espie told me he was caught spreading false information to harm the syndicate or whatever, so I had to figure out who else was involved," Kuroba explained.

"And?" Weavile asked, just above a whisper. She had to force herself not to look away, to take in every detail of her subordinate's fate and burn it into her mind. If Breloom gave in to the pain, she was sure to be number 31.

"No good. He bit off his tongue and killed himself," Kuroba answered in an almost whiny voice, "Really took out the fun in picking him apart." Weavile was silent. "He's yours, right?" Kuroba looked over at Weavile.

"He _was,_ " Weavile responded, a hint of scorn in her voice, "He disappeared a few days ago. Went off on a mission and never came back. I assumed he was dead, but I didn't think he'd try something like this."

"Well, you certainly raise them right if you've got them chopping off their tongues at the first sign of danger," Kuroba grumbled. "Buzzkill."

"I'll take that as a compliment," Weavile smirked with feigned confidence as she turned to leave, "Keep the body. It barely looks like Breloom anymore, anyway."

"Ohh, don't _leave_ ," Kuroba grabbed her arm. Weavile looked at him to see him smiling at her with wide purple eyes, his pupils no more than slits, "I can only have so much fun with a dead body."

Weavile found herself unable to move. Whether it was from fear or some kind of move, she was petrified under Kuroba's stare. She could hear her heart thumping loudly inside her head and the room seemed to darken as she stared shakily into the Ghost-type's vibrant purple eyes. It took all of her mental strength just to pull away.

"I-I…" Her voice was shaky. She took a few steps away from Kuroba and collected herself before starting again, with a firmer voice, "I'm sorry. I have other things to do. You'll have to find someone else." She glanced back at him with an expression that she hoped was confident.

"Aww, you're no fun," Kuroba whined in a mocking tone as he followed her back out into the main room.

"You sound like my kids," Weavile teased as she brought a chair over to the middle of the room and stood on it in order to reach the opening in the ceiling. She jumped up and grabbed the first bar, then heaved herself up and began the climb up to ground level. From below, she could hear the soft cackling of the Interrogator, echoing through the small space. If she stayed any longer, one of them would be dead.

…

By the time Weavile returned, the sun was rising again, lighting up the sky for the start of the new day. But darkness still loomed over Weavile's heart as she stormed up to her room.

Murkrow was waiting for her at the top of the stairs, "Weavile, what happened at-" Weavile kicked the door to her office open, nearly knocking it off the hinges, and stomped in. Murkrow tried again as he followed her in, "Uh, Weav, you al-"

"Close the door!" Weavile snapped. Murkrow quickly and quietly brought the door back to the door frame. As soon as it clicked shut, Weavile let out a scream as she swept an arm across her desk, throwing off papers and books and watching them flutter to the floor.

"This room isn't soundproof," Murkrow reminded her.

"That _motherfucking_ Espeon! He and Kuroba are in cahoots!" Weavile raved, "They're both trying to intimidate me with their passive aggression!"

"I'm assuming the summons to Carrion Woods went badly," Murkrow sighed.

"Badly? _Badly?"_ Weavile laughed, "I arrive at the goddamn murder shack to find Breloom's mangled body as Kuroba's kill number 30! That bastard _said_ he didn't know who else was involved with Breloom's treason, but I'm _sure_ Espeon told him!"

"Then why didn't he kill you?" Murkrow asked.

"Because he's fucking _toying_ with us just like Espeon is! That psychopath doesn't actually _care_ about the mafia or betrayal or whatever! He just sees it as a way to get subjects for his dissections!" Weavile ranted, "He's like a fucking kid in a candy shop, and Persian keeps giving him more and more treats!"

"Ok, let's calm down. This is all speculation," Murkrow advised.

"No, it's not. Here's what I know for a fact: Espeon knows I was part of the conspiracy against Persian. He told Kuroba. The two of them agreed, for whatever reason, that it would be better to laugh at me running around frantically trying to cover my tracks than to just kill me," Weavile sat down in her swivel chair, then immediately stood back up, "I bet he thinks I'm not even a threat to the syndicate."

"Isn't that a good thing?" Murkrow pointed out.

"No! Well, yes… I don't know," Weavile slumped back into her seat. "Who's the one who advises Persian on tactical maneuvers?"

"That would be the Intel division," Murkrow answered.

"That bastard Espeon… He makes it seem easy," Weavile grumbled.

"I'm sure he has lots of experience," Murkrow consoled, "He's head of intelligence for a reason."

"Which is kind of weird, isn't it?" Weavile asked.

"What is?"

"We both know Persian to be the kind of guy that quickly discards anything that isn't useful to him without a second thought. So why did he keep Espeon around when he was in a coma for three years?"

"I heard Espeon and Persian were friends or something," Murkrow explained.

"They were? They don't seem like they'd get along at all," Weavile observed, "they're both assholes who enjoy the suffering of those weaker than them."

"Wouldn't that mean they have a lot in common?"

"No, it would mean they want to see each other suffer as well," Weavile stated, "but they can't because sadists are good at dealing with other sadists."

"Well, it seems you've calmed down now," Murkrow noticed.

"Yeah, I guess… I'm really hungry, though, since I missed dinner." She got up from her chair, "I'm going to get something to eat. Wanna join me?"

"No, I… I need some time alone," Murkrow responded.

"Alright," Weavile patted his shoulder as she left the room.

Murkrow was trembling with a vast loneliness caused by the death of his good friend. As the door closed once again, Murkrow finally felt safe to let his tears flow, sobbing quietly so as not to be heard.


	15. Chapter 15: What Lurks Past the Horizon

There was always something so alluring about the desert dawn to Scizor. Where he had spent most of his life the rousing sun would be accompanied by his shimmering twin on the surface of the water. Those were the rare days, however. Often he would only know of day's arrival by the transformation from black to gray from the clouded skies above. Other times the salty mist would prevent nothing but a dim glow and a few beams of light through. Here though, there were neither clouds to blanket the still sleeping city, nor was there any shroud of mist. For seven consecutive mornings Scizor had woken up early just to watch the golden light of the sun raise up from behind the horizon to devour the pale blues and lavenders of the fleeting night.

And so he sat on the top of the completed tower, gazing straight ahead as always. His legs dangled over the side as his pincers held him in place. The smith hammered away below with scraps of metal as he finished up some of his creations before the time would come. Against the rising sun the silhouette of a Swellow drew nearer and nearer with each passing moment. It only took a few minutes before the Flying-type gracefully landed beside Scizor.

"They're nearly ready, sire," panted Swellow. "Royal reinforcements arrived just last night. Nearly three hundred total."

"Three hundred…" Scizor muttered. "Who's their general now?"

"Machamp the Cleaver," Swellow said. "His Obsidian Sawblade wasn't huge as legends say, but still. It looks like it could cut through stone like it were wood."

"Shit," Scizor spat. His pincers rasped together. "Didn't think that the bastards would've had ta' resort ta' breaking out the Cleaver… Is there anything else? Siege weapons or anything?"

Swellow shook his head. "They're armed only with themselves," he said.

"And that's what bothers me." Scizor paused for a moment and stared into the rising sun. "Thank you, Swellow… Ya' did fine work. Take a nap, will ya'?"

"Yes sire." Swellow nodded before gracefully leaping into the air and gliding away.

"I never can get used to that," said the voice of Gothitelle behind him. "'Sire'. Just sounds so weird."

"Yeah, well… what can ya' do 'bout it?" Scizor shrugged. He turned around a bit just so to see Gothitelle levitating slowly to the top of the tower. And just behind her was a steel arch with ends bound taut by a cable. The structure was a few feet taller than her. Instantly he lit up. "He finally finished it, did he?" Scizor beamed.

"Followed your design as best he could," Gothitelle answered. "Aegislash couldn't spend as much time as he needed to in order to make it last, but he estimated a good thirty shots or so on this… what did you call it again?"

"They call it a greatbow," Scizor answered. "Did he get the arrows finished for it?"

"Two dozen of 'em. They're with Aegislash right now."

"That all he making?"

"Yup. He moved on to making something for Cain."

"And what'd that be?"

"Remember the bell on the top of the church? He's working on making it into a hammer," she answered. As if on cue there came a muffled _gong_ from below as the smith struck the bell.

"Hopefully he'll be finished soon." Scizor shook his head. "Cain with a hammer… It's almost unfair."

"You scared that we'll need it?" she asked.

"Honestly? Yeah," he sighed. "Not sure if you heard, but their new general is Machamp "

"The Cleaver?" she exclaimed, taken aback. Scizor nodded. "Arceus… they really want you dead, don't they?"

"They'll need ta' try harder than that," he said with a false bravado. "Not even a damned volcano could take me down."

"You're welcome for that," Gothitelle muttered. Again the bell rang as the smith continued to work beneath. Scizor gently shook and began to stand up.

"Get a few practice shots in," he ordered. "A greatbow can be a bit difficult to handle."

"Understood," she sighed.

"Thanks for this," Scizor said with a small bow. "I don't remember if I've told ya', but it really does mean a lot that ya' do this."

The Psychic-type just nodded as she eyed the greatbow that levitated in the telekinetic clutches beside her. It was the kind of rough, jagged mess made of barely smoothed rebar that one would only wield during the end of the world. It was complete and utter trash, without a doubt. But with a bit of focus with her Psychic, it could just manage to be functional.

"It's fine. I'm a part of this army; it's my job to keep everyone safe here," Gothitelle shrugged. The cable pulled itself back as she knocked an invisible arrow into it.

"Sir." Yet again, it was Grovyle. And yet again, she appeared from the shadows knelt before her lord.

"Yeah?" Scizor turned towards her.

"Team Camelot returned from the tunnels," she continued.

"The tunn- _oh_ , right. Past that Cacturne," Scizor surmised. "And? What did they find?"

"They wouldn't tell me," Grovyle answered. "They said they wanted to talk to you. They're just at the entrance where Durant broke into."

"Thank ya'," he smiled. His wings began to buzz and he leapt off the top of the top of the tower.

"I'm amazed how little anyone cares about gravity around here," said Gothitelle.

"He was keeping his gu- woah, _hey!_ Careful there!" Grovyle exclaimed as she lurched towards the greatbow.

"It's not loaded." Gothitelle drifted the empty greatbow over to the Grass-type.

"No, that's the thing. Shooting a bow without an arrow damages the string," she warned her.

"Really? I guess that makes sense." Carefully the cable began to return to its relaxed position. "I didn't know that you knew anything about these bows."

"They had to come from somewhere, didn't they?" Grovyle shrugged.

"Is that so…" Gothitelle mulled. "Do you… think you could help me?"

"I have some time free," Grovyle offered.

Team Camelot sat in the shade of a collapsed wall half-buried in the sands. The three of them were coated in dirt and grime that hadn't seen the daylight in countless years. But just as it was finally basking in the sun, Buizel's steady Water Gun streamed down his fur and washed it all away.

"Damn it," Buizel grumbled. "Why the hell did they make these tunnels so damn dingey?"

"Probably hasn't been used in years," Luxio said back. He rolled on his back against the rough sands in an attempt to clean himself.

"Still weird." Buizel shook himself dry and let the sun do the rest. "If they've never been used, how the hell did it all get there?"

"Could've been the kid," Kirlia suggested. The grime spun around him in a loose collection as he cleaned himself.

"Kid?" Scizor repeated. Kirlia and Buizel jolted up at his voice. Luxio scrambled onto all four paws. "What kid? Whadya' find?"

"Shit, don't scare me like that," Buizel panted with a paw clutched over his heart.

"We didn't find anything concrete," Kirlia stated as he tried to recover. "But considering we didn't find anything worth guarding in the vault, we began to think that someone ran down when they heard Cacturne fall."

"Then where'd the 'kid' go?" Scizor asked.

"Well, sir, the small tunnel branched off a little bit. None of them really lead anywhere, but one lead out into the desert a few miles out from town," Luxio explained. "We put a few Iron Thorns into the ground next to it if you want to find it. It's a bit to the Northeast."

"An escape tunnel," Scizor muttered.

"Too small for practical use," Kirlia added. "We could barely crawl through it. Whoever it's made for must've been tiny."

"We might have enough time ta' check it out later," Scizor said. "Keep up the work, will ya?"

"Some other time," Buizel shirked. "There were a hell of a lot of branches we explored. Took all damn night. Gonna catch a nap."

…

As the dawn overtook the vast plain of sands, the sunlight began to shine upon the rooftops and pierce through the sleeping Riolu's eyelids. With an irritated groan they opened slowly to the waking world around him. Rose still kept herself huddled up a few inches away from Pyro's tail as he lay curled up on the floor. Soldiers were just beginning to emerge from the interior of the church. The rough voice of Blastoise told a few jokes to his friends that walked beside him from the ground. Even as he was just collecting himself from his dreams, he couldn't help but feel the slighte-

"Morning!" A red blur burst out of nowhere directly to his left.

" _Holy fuck!_ " Riley jolted up with his back pressed against the wall, staring with a sudden fear at a snickering Vulpix. His partners jumped out of their sleep and looked, startled, to the Riolu. "Christ, don't _do_ that," he groaned.

"What's going on?" Pyro asked, rubbing the sleep away.

"Who's this?" Rose added, looking carefully at the Vulpix who was now rolling over on the belfry floor.

"Just…" He shook his head as between her cackles she managed to say _Arceus, the look on your face…!_ "She ran into me last night. We didn't talk for long, but she's named Kit."

"Is that so…" Rose gave her a confused, skeptical look. Riley met the Grass-type's gaze with that _tell me about it_ kind of look.

"Another kid?" Pyro tilted his head.

"I know. Weird." Riley shrugged. "Hey, Kit. You okay?"

"F-fine," she stammered as her laughter died. "I'm fine."

"Do you need anything?" Rose asked, masking her impatience.

"They gave me the day off, so I thought I'd come up here," she stated. "You three aren't busy, are you?"

"Uh…" Riley looked to his two teammates, who seemed to be in the middle of some telepathic counsel. "I don't think so," he said.

"Great! Wanna go play?" Kit rushed.

"Wait, what?" the Grass-type almost scoffed without thinking.

"You know, play. Like, tag? And all those other ones." Kit shot them a cocky grin. "What, are you scared you'd lose?"

"Why would we be scared of a game?" Rose asked.

"Maybe that you'd muddy your reputation to some nobody?" the Vulpix taunted.

"Yep. Completely quivering," answered Pyro as he leaned back down on the floor. "Oh no, I think I feel myself fainting." Rose kicked him with her stubby leg, doing little more than gaining his attention.

"What kind of game?" Riley asked.

"At least someone's willing to have some fun," said the fox with a playful smile. She began to stroll closer to him.

"I didn't say that yet."

"I was thinking of… Tag!" And with that one word Kit twirled around on her front legs, bringing her backside towards Riley as she bucked her hind leg into his muzzle. Dazed, he staggered back against the wall once again as he clamped his paws down where he had been hit. Through the motion blur he saw the Vulpix run away giggling. As she reached the end of the roof, Kit crouched down and sprung away with a Quick Attack. As she nimbly landed in a window of a barren, partially-stripped building, she looked back to Riley for but a moment, nodding for him to follow before running off inside.

"Ouch. Are you okay?" Pyro cringed.

Riley groaned and rubbed his muzzle. "Yeah. I'm just surprised."

"She's weird," Rose observed. "Why does Scizor keep her here?"

"Beats me." He shook his head and stood up from the belfry wall. "But, I kinda wanna find out."

"Damn it," Rose muttered under her breath.

"What? It's not like we have anything else to do right now." Riley stretched his legs out with a cluster of pops from his knees.

"No no, it's alright. Tag her back," Rose said dramatically. "Run on after her. It's not like w-"

"Don't have to tell me twice," Riley grinned. He mirrored the motions of the Vulpix, bursting forward in a sprint and leaping off the edge with a Quick Attack. His arc brought him just to the ledge of the window, where his arms frantically reached up and panicked as he climbed inside.

"...e were here for anything important," Rose finished. "Oh hell. That furry bastard."

"Let him go," Pyro said.

"I wasn't going after him," Rose snapped, gesturing to those stubs she had for legs.

"He's just here to have some fun. Who are we to ruin it for him?" The Charmander closed his eyes and tucked his maw between his arms.

"I just can't believe him sometimes," she admitted. "Death is right around the corner, and he's playing a game of tag."

"Yeah… But whining about it won't change the fact that we're stuck with him," he pointed out.

"We're gonna die out here." She was almost laughing as she leaned against the belfry wall. "Just because he wanted to go have his fun, we'll end up as casualties out here in the stupid desert."

"We'll be fine." Through the weariness in his voice, the frustration didn't carry with it. "No need to be so dark. Give us a few days and we'll be back on schedule with the Guild."

"If Gallade even lets us back," Rose mumbled.

"You know… I was trying to forget about that." Pyro rolled over into the light of the rising sun and looked up to the dying night sky. Stars were fading away into the soft blue morning. "To think that this might be as close to the Guild as we'll ever be again..."

"I'm not sure if you remember," called Buizel, walking up the stairs from the belfry, "but everyone's starting to wake up about now. So I respectfully ask you to keep your traps shut."

"You seem awfully calm about this," Pyro observed. "Aren't you afraid you won't be able to go back, either?"

"Nope," Buizel yawned.

"Care to explain?" Rose asked.

"I don't want to get booted out of the Guild. None of us do. And Kirlia more than any of us will fight for his position there." The weasel sat against the belfry wall opposite the Grass-type. "So he wouldn't be so careless. He has a plan for us to get off with minimal punishment. Worst case scenario, it'll be a night without dinner."

"I wouldn't be so sure," Pyro said.

"If you wanna cry about it, then I can't stop you." Again Buizel yawned. "You can whine about the past all you want, but unless you've a solution you're just gonna drown in your own tears. You shouldn't need me to tell you this. The furry one should've said something along those lines… Where is he, anyways?"

"Playing a game of tag with a Vulpix," Rose answered.

"Tag…" Buizel shook his head and began to chuckle. "If Kirls hears about this… well, you two know him well enough, don't you?"

"Unfortunately," she sighed.

"Yeah… he can be a piece of work sometimes," the weasel admitted. "Honestly I'd be afraid to say it if he wasn't with Scizor right now, but he's..."

"Full of himself?" Rose offered.

"Let's go with that." Another elongated yawn crawled out of Buizel's muzzle. "Listen; as much as I'd like to talk, I was up all night. I'm gonna catch a few hours of sleep."

"You realize that this is the epicenter, right? It's gonna get really noisy in just a short while," Pyro stated.

"Don't care," Buizel shrugged. "You know the drill if anyone needs me." The Water-type laid down on his back and snapped into sleep as if he had been hypnotized.

"Okay then…" Rose murmured. "Apparently he doesn't care about the situation he's in."

"I wonder why he's even here in the first place," Pyro said just above a whisper. "Kirlia, that is. Those two were probably just dragged along."

"Who knows?" she shrugged.

"It's a bit weird, don't you think?" Pyro continued. "He inherited Gallade's sense of duty. Why is he going against the guildmaster's orders? He knows what could happen as a result."

"Like getting kicked out? Not likely. He's Gallade's own son. At worst he's gonna just get a slap on the wrist and a stern _don't do it again_." The Roselia seemed to sneer as she uttered those words. "Us, however… I can just feel the blade hanging over our necks."

"I wouldn't be so sure… Again, about Kirlia. You're right about us," Pyro contemplated. "I don't think I'd put it past him to cut off his own son. He never struck me as the type of guy to show leniency to his own kid. If anything he'd be strung up as an example. But again, that only raises the question of 'why'..."

"I'd say we could ask him, but, you know Kirlia. He wouldn't give us the light of day," she sighed. "The answer we'd get would be even less satisfying than Riley's."

"The pursuit of fun," Pyro grumbled. "Why _did_ you say yes to him, anyways?"

"I thought it would get it all out of his system and scare him a little. But now…" As if on cue, the Riolu emerged a few ruined blocks over on the unstable roof of a building top. He was more scampering than actually running as he tried to regain his balance from whatever happened moments ago. That Vulpix from earlier was close behind with a passionate determination in her eyes. "I think I might've made it worse." A beaming Riley leapt off the rooftop and plummeted for the ruins of its neighbor. His paws managed to grip the frame of a broken window and scramble himself inside. Mere seconds after, the Vulpix lunged in after him, and their chase continued out of sight.

"I never would've thought Gallade would make us his babysitters," Pyro murmured.

"Yeah… what're you gonna do," she shrugged.

"Who knows…" The deep blue eyes of the Charmander set upon the final star in the sky, weakly grasping to that single strand of life that the approaching day attempted to sever, letting the dim glow fall into the depths of the soft blue abyss. "Maybe we might get lucky."

…

Another evening of work came and went in the ruined city. The soldiers emerged from the church and proceeded with the work Scizor assigned them: fortify. And from there on it was more of the same. Improving the walls, adding a few minor divots and obstructions in the perceived potential battlefield, a bit of extra work on the tower, all the essentials they needed. Of course, this only accounts for what they could manage to install in the course of three days with the scraps all around them. Aesthetics were impossible to address when their only materials were the corpses of buildings. All Scizor could do that night was pray for more time and bolster their defenses, but with the news that Swellow brought in that morning, that would be far too much to ask for.

The dim glow of a cluster of fires illuminated golden dunes far off from the ruins of the city. And though the edge of the sphere of light was visible from the very top of Scizor's tower, he would not be able to see what lay within it. What was usually a cold night wind in this endless stretch of sands now carried with it a robust warmth, and the simple yet alluring smell of meat cooked over the flames, albeit faint.

Just beyond sight, there stood over a hundred tents pitched up on, what were in many cases, broken poles and planks of wood. With so little to scavenge from they didn't have the option to be picky. Their current general, a Krookodile, had assured them that it would only be a few days before they would be able to resupply upon the arrival of their reinforcements. It may have been true, and the remains of the army retreated into the shade and attempted to recuperate with their dwindling stock, but their general didn't expect to see who came with it.

Under the cover of night, Krookodile sat on a stool whose legs dug shallowly into the sand beneath him. And a mere six feet away from her was the hulking mass of muscle shaped in the form of a Machamp. When fully upright he must have been well over seven feet tall, maybe even eight. Instead of risking breaking one of the stools, he sat down on the object that gave him his title. The Obsidian Sawblade. Jagged chunks of impervious black stone jutted out from between two thick pieces of red wood. The thousands of obsidian edges traced along the length of the weapon, nearly as tall as Machamp himself, and only stopped to give way for a two-handed hilt, where the wood had been pressed in so hard that he had imprinted on it the outline of his fingers.

And the two were not alone. Three other strange faces sat around them, staying out of the middle as if it were unmarked holy grounds. To Krookodile's left, an Alakazam levitated in place with his legs folded. Two closed books gradually orbited around him, and the blunt end of a pen traced patterns in the sand between them in his telekinetic clutches. Across from the Psychic-type, a Marowak sat on the ground with one arm propped up on his knee. The heavy white bone rested upon his shoulder, and his sharp gaze aimed directly through his skull mask and at the lines Alakazam put down. The final face was that of a Dragonite, standing just behind Alakazam and carefully looking down at the drawings he made.

"Does that look good?" Alakazam asked to the Dragon-type.

"Good as it'll get," Dragonite responded. As the pen retracted back into the air, the tracings had taken the form of a somewhat crude map of the former city. The church and the tower had been dug in deeper than the rest of the streets and alleys that would mark the battlefield.

"Was there _anything_ else? Even the slightest detail is important," Alakazam asked of him.

"They stuck a few things in the ground as a sort of barrier, but nothing too strong. It baffles me that they even put them up."

The pen swooped down and made a few quick dashes in the dirt roughly around the church. "Like that?"

"Yeah."

"Then le-"

"Hold up a second," requested Krookodile, looking to the hulking Machamp across from her. "You still haven't told me who these Pokemon are."

The Cleaver sat hunched over with all four arms crossed over one another like some elaborate knot. His bronze eyes glared at the Psychic-type next to him with contempt for his very existence, and every second with him he had to resist the urge to pull that stupidly long moustache from his ugly mug. And that flying lizard, too. There's no way wings that small could carry his dopey-looking ass in the air.

"Some bullshit mercenaries," Machamp answered. "The big boss only let me go if I was with these guys."

"Okay, but… what difference will three Pokemon make?" she asked.

"Four," Dragonite corrected. "There's another one of us: a Nidoking. He's tied up outside."

"Wh-what did he do?"

"Nothing yet," Marowak told her. "I presume you want to keep your army alive, however. So _keep_ him tied up. By the time you would subdue him, the body count would already be in the triple digits."

"Arceus…" She fell back into silence.

"I'm gonna pull us back on topic and start planning our attack." The pen began to twist and swirl through the air above the crude map.

"Easy." Machamp stood up and reached for the great obsidian sawblade. His two left arms grasped the edge and raised it above his head. "We storm the place and _kill 'em!_ " The hundreds of edges dropped down to the outline of the church with a force great enough to bury someone in the ground with the brunt end of it. But less than an inch from the surface, Alakazam extended his arm outward and caught the weapon in a Psychic.

"Unless you plan on taking a great bolt through the chest, I would not recommend it."

"Let _go!_ " Machamp bellowed. He put all four hands on the hilt of the weapon and pulled back. After just a second Alakazam sighed and released the obsidian sawblade, and the hulking mass of muscle stumbled backwards and collapsed to the ground.

"The tower has a greatbow, remember? We do not know the limits of its power, but given the average I would not think I could catch it. Slim, fast, strong… But, there's only one." The tip of the pen raced through the sands and traced a path around the east side of the city. It then took a sharp turn into a main route into the heart, and then made a mad dash towards the location of the tower. "One group will go around quietly and take the tower from behind, while another…" The pen retracted out and then made one thick, heavy line directly towards the church. "While another acts as a distraction and takes some heavy fire."

"What, you mean cannon fodder?" Krookodile retracted herself at the very idea of using live bait.

"The second group will be selected to be tougher and able to take a hit or two. But yes, inevitably some will die. It would be foolish to think otherwise. You should know this, right?"

"You should try and minimize casualties," she scolded.

"Do you not understand what a greatbow can do?" Dragonite stepped in. "In the right hands the arrows can punch right through you. The impact can break pillars. If we just storm towards it, we'll all die."

"You can tackle it, can't you?" Machamp sneered. His four arms were folded into a knot once again as he sat on the brunt of his weapon. "You can fly. Don't whine, and just do your damn job."

"Scizor gave it to their doctor, Gothitelle. I'd get smitten from the skies," he defended.

"She's a _doctor_ ," Machamp exclaimed. "How the hell is she going to hit you?"

"Fool." Marowak's gaze pierced right through the Fighting-type through his skull mask. "She's a fine physician, first-rate in her field. Her focus is frightening, even when fettered by fret. Don't doubt her surgical flawlessness."

Machamp glared at the Ground-type. He'd hoped he could at least tolerate this one, but with that many f's...

"And," Dragonite added, "they're posting Grovyle beside her. So even if I could get past the greatbow…"

"Grovyle as well?" Alakazam flicked his fingers out, and the pen added the small symbol of a dagger next to the tower. "This changes things." He brushed aside the path in the sand that lead along the city outskirts.

"We could go underground," Krookodile offered. "There's a good number of us that can Dig."

"No wonder you're being demoted," muttered Alakazam. "Marowak, if you please?"

"That Grovyle is an eastern savage," Marowak said with a distinct coldness in his voice. "She was sustained in a area of ceaseless conflict called Shiva, homeland to the world's most superb slayers. Their senses are highly stimulated. She can sense us scavenging for a significant stretch. And being sniffed out by a Shivan… her sword is seriously sharp. How many soldiers would be slain?"

"Exactly. Her speed and air mobility are nothing to take lightly," Alakazam said. "Do you think you'd be able to distract her?"

"An idiotic inquiry." The Ground-type's hand slid to the base of his club and gripped it firmly. "I'll bring back her head."

"Perfect. Krookodile, you know your soldiers well. Give a mobile group of Marowak and Dragonite to take on the tower," the Psychic-type ordered. "The two will storm the tower, get rid of their greatbow, and then sweep on to the church. This is where their vanguard will likely be standing: Cain, the behemoth."

"Don't sweat it," Machamp offered. His thick, pale lips grinned. "I'll take tubby on myself."

"Yeah, about that," Dragonite spoke up. "When I was scouting over, I couldn't help but notice the bell was gone from the church. And at the base of the tower, I could hear its ringing. You know, like it was being struck. I thought their smith, Aegislash, might've been forging something out of it. And given the size of the bell, it only seems fitting that someone as big as Cain would use it."

"You should've said so earlier," Alakazam growled. The pen drew a simple hammer inside of a large circle in front of the church. "That might be a pain to deal with, actually…"

"What did I _just_ say?" spat Machamp. Four bulky blue thumbs pointed up at him. "I can take him. Break right the hell through his armor."

"That might work, if not for Slowking," Marowak told them.

"Who gives a shit? He's just some fat guy with a crown," Machamp sneered.

"You haven't heard of him before, have you?" Plainly the answer was no, so with a sigh of annoyance, Alakazam explained. "He was Xatu's disciple, before he passed away. And while nowhere near as good as his master… Whatever plan we go with tonight, he knows it by now. Meaning so does Scizor. _But!_ " Alakazam wore a sly grin as he spoke. "I've already planned for that. We have our berserker bomb to drop, if things go astray."

"Berserker bomb?" Krookodile repeated.

"I mentioned him before, didn't I? Regardless, do me a favor and close your eyes… Listen carefully… Hear that?" As she shut her eyes and focused, at first she just heard the usual sounds of camp. Jumbled conversations, Pokemon walking around, things being pushed and sands shifting about… But then, she noticed something was off. At first she noticed it in the nervousness in her soldiers' voices as they walked about nearby, but it was only seconds later when she heard the first bit of metallic rattling. There must have been a dozen _clinks_ and _clanks_ before they were pulled taut with a beastly growl. And it was coming from above her, high up in the air."

"What the- what is that?!" she exclaimed, darting her gaze to the cloth ceiling of the tent.

"I told you about Nidoking and how he's tied up, didn't I? Yes, well, that's him," Alakazam said. "I'm holding him up right now, but… he could break out on his own and do… well, you know what bombs do. Think of him like that. That's what the chains are for."

"But, it-"

"Do not worry. We've done this kind of thing before," Alakazam consoled her.

"Plus, it's not your job to worry no more," grinned Machamp. "Your ass has been kicked down the ladder."

"What a pitiful plot," sneered Marowak. "We are supposed to prehend the palace. Letting that primal thing rage will plunder everything."

Alakazam extended his hand forward, stopping the Ground-type just as he was about to tread on the map. His eyes were cold and merciless. "Don't doubt your tactician," he demanded. "I've already thought this out."

"... Then speak," Marowak said. "What's your scheme, snake?"

"I heard through the grapevine that Scizor brought someone dear to him along for the ride. Maybe he thought he could keep her safe so long as she was within sight. But whatever the case, he's a fool," Alakazam explained. "He brought along with him his goddaughter: a little Vulpix named Kit. Worse comes to worst, we grab her and hold her hostage. Someone as virtuous as Scizor wouldn't risk her life. If we find her, Dragonite will hold her high in the air and do whatever the situation calls for."

"Cowardly," scoffed Marowak.

"Victory isn't secured by a warrior's spirit. It can only be obtained through a tactician's mind." That sly smile yet again found itself on Alakazam's narrow mouth. "Any objections?"

"What about Scizor himself?" Dragonite asked. "He's gonna be on the frontlines as well, isn't he?"

"I'll take him, too," claimed Machamp. "I'll get through that Cain like _that_ -" he snapped his fingers on his bottom left arm- "and then get to that red bastard."

"Hopefully the remaining forces will have what it takes to get the final push," Alakazam muttered. "So we're all clear, are we? Divide into two groups, one for the tower and the other for the church, and then just play it by ear according to how Slowking reacts to our tactics."

"I can't say I'm comfortable with playing it by ear…" murmured Krookodile.

"They only have two attack points. With such a short amount of time and supplies, their own strategy can't be that complex," Alakazam replied.

"It'll work out," said Dragonite. "We've done riskier stuff than this before." Marowak merely shrugged and looked away.

"So long as I get to get in there," Machamp said with a wide grin, "I'll be fine with anything."

 _And this is the general they're replacing her with_ , Alakazam thought glumly. "Good. Get a good rest. We leave an hour before dawn. Make sure everyone's ready by then, Krookodile. Spread the word. Sort the soldiers."

"I'll see what I can do," she sighed. The Dark-type stood up from her stool and walked around the map to the outside.

"The rest of you as well," Alakazam said. "I'll see you in the morning. Machamp, make sure you live up to your title as Cleaver out there."

"Like hell I won't," he spat, glaring at the stupidly long moustache of his.

"Good." And without another word, he casually floated out of the tent. He was followed by the Dragonite, and then by Marowak, whose bone rested on his shoulder. As the new General, Machamp had claimed this tent as his own, and took rest on a bed far too small for him. Within the hour, everyone in the camp had fallen asleep, and the only sounds remaining were that of the berserker bomb grunting and rattling above all of their heads.


	16. Chapter 16: The Frontlines

"Scizor!" Slowking shouted as his stout, rotund body barreled through the night. His breaths were heavy and strained as his gaze swept from street to street. "Scizor, where are you?!"

"What, what?!" The red Bug-type raced above the sands with the buzzing of his wings right behind him. He rounded a corner, and his focused gaze met with that of Slowking's. "Arceus, youer _late_ ," Scizor growled. "Ya' should've been here-"

"Yesterday, I know. I-I should've been done earlier, but thi-things popped up," Slowking stammered. "A lot is gonna happen, and I- I had to m-make sure I got everything."

"Spit it out already," he ordered.

"O-okay. They've been scouting us, and they know a-about the tower. So they're gonna bring up a distraction group and bring a-a fast group around to the east." The large Water-type made gestures around him in the general direction in which the invaders would come from. "A-and there are these guys with them that just- just… they killed everyone."

"'Everyone'?" Scizor said in bewilderment. "There were only supposed ta' be some three hundred of them. How could th-"

"There were four of them that did most of the work. They even brought out the Cleaver in their forces.."

"Swellow told me."

"Yeah, I saw that he was leading as their general, but… b-but, he wasn't their tactician. There was an Alakazam lingering behind and commanding them. A-and he just swept through everything in a matter of hours. _Hours_."

"And the other two?"

"A Dragonite and a Marowak lead the group that took the tower, and they… Well, Dragonite took out the greatbow, and Marowak with Grovyle… The soldiers clashed, and-"

"Details. Give me details. What did they do? When? How many?" Scizor demanded.

"Gothitelle directed her focus on Dragonite once she noticed him, and she grazed him a few times. But the guy just kept on going- him and a dozen other fliers. We need to roost a few others beside her to keep her safe and still able to attack. If need be, I can handle part of that. But the Marowak… He was so fast, I-I couldn't see what he was doing."

"And what of their main force?" Scizor stepped forward with his pincers snapped shut.

"That Alakazam, he… h-he disturbed me the moment I saw him." Slowking's gaze narrowed, and he seemed to heave out every word. "I don't know how he did this so quickly, but the soldiers moved like a machine. The obstacles in the sand were nothing. He just cut right through."

"I asked for details. What _exactly_ did he do?"

"I couldn't see everything, but- Scizor, listen to me," Slowking pleaded. "Like I said, he disturbed me, so I checked to see what would happen if- if I told us to attack him first. Gothitelle shot him with one of her bolts, and- and he used Teleport to get out of the way. And then… then he shook his head and said a few things, and something… s-something d-dropped from the sky… It was a Pokemon, Scizor. A Nidoking bound in chains."

"A Nidoking…?"

"He just _killed_ everyone." The Water-type seemed to whimper as he spoke.

"How could one Pokemon sweep through all of us?" Scizor scoffed.

"That's just it: _all_ of us. Both sides."

"Why would they-"

"I don't _know_ ," Slowking exhaled through clenched teeth. Scizor put on a solemn expression for a moment as he put a pincer to his chin.

"Is… is there anything else? After the battle?" the Bug-type asked.

"I… I don't know," Slowking sulked. "I- I got lost in there, and I… I don't know where I ended up, but before I broke free, I saw us. We were in shambles, but alive nonetheless. So… Take that as you will."

"Fuckin'..." Scizor sighed. "Youer powers annoy me sometimes."

"Hey, it's not my fault they're incomplete," Slowking barked.

"I know, I know…" Scizor shook his head and turned around. "Thanks anyways. This was… something ta' mull over, at the very least… When did they show up? You must've seen that."

"Sunrise," Slowking answered.

"Shit…" Scizor turned towards the east, where to his delight the night sky still showed no sign of giving way. "That's only a few hours… Grovyle! Grovyle, come here!" Not even four seconds passed before an evergreen blur kicked off a broken pillar and came to a soft stop just in front of him.

"Sir?" she replied.

"Timely as ever… Go ta' the kitchen and get the cooks going. We need ta' get everyone fed and good ta' go," Scizor ordered.

"Understood," she said.

"Wait," Slowking called to her. "Grovyle, wait. Today you're gonna… you're gonna run into a Marowak out there. And he-"

"They're gonna kill me?" she surmised. The Grass-type raised a brow.

"Just, be careful out there. I d-didn't catch it all, but- your back-"

"My back?" she nearly sneered. "Are you insinuating that I'd turn away from an opponent?"

"Enough," blurted Scizor. "Ya' can tell her about it later. We're running low on time here. Grovyle, run. Go."

"Yessir."

"N-no, she needs-" Grovyle bowed faintly, and in yet another evergreen blur she vanished. Slowking's head sunk so that his chin met his chest. "Damn it," he groaned.

"Ya' calm youerself," Scizor ordered. "Youer tired. Frantic. Clean up, and then warn everyone ya' need to. We clear?"

"Understood," Slowking mumbled.

"Pool youer thoughts on the Nidoking especially. If he's anything like ya' said he is, then I want to prepare as best as I can," the Bug-type stated.

"If Xatu were still here-"

"He ain't," Scizor spat. "Save youer hypotheticals for after the battle. Right now, I need youer mind focused on that damned Nidoking. You can sulk once lives are no longer on the line. Clean up, gather youer thoughts, and come back to me when you get more out of your head."

"You _know-_... Sure thing," Slowking hissed. Without another word, the Water-type spun around and stormed off into the night.

"Son of a bitch," Scizor muttered. "This is just fuckin' _great!_ " He kicked at the ground and started grinding his pincers. Raspy screeches carried through the still night air. "One ta' the east, and another tackling us head-on… A tactician hanging to the back… The Cleaver, and a Nidoking… Dear Jacob, don't let this fall apart on me."

…

Within the hour, the army had been pushed out of slumber and into action. The cooks in the kitchen rushed to make their breakfast, which was just reheating soup from the previous night and baking six dozen loaves of bread. Scizor barked at them all to wolf it down, and then proceeded to post everyone one-by-one to their positions. He shouted out so fast that he barely even got a look at them before they were sent off. Exactly twenty-seven minutes after they had been woken, everyone had been placed where Scizor had planned for them to be. And as they talked with one another and played a variety of card games, there was still a general air of uneasiness about them. Each joke they made and hand they dealt could easily have been their last.

This air that hung about applied, especially, to the Pokemon of the guild, who were in a war without a cause to fight for. Under Scizor's orders, the six had been tucked away into a ruined building to brew out in the cold morning air that seemed in through all the cracks and holes in the walls. From a few sticks and a bit of kindling, the Charmander started a small bonfire that most of them had begun to rest around. Pyro himself lay right next to it with the end of his tail sitting just on the edge of the flame.

"I guess this is it," said the Fire-type, not sure at first that he had spoken aloud.

"Don't talk like that. It's bad luck," Buizel told him. He himself lay down comfortably next to the bonfire with his paws underneath the back of his head.

"Yeah. Now's not the time to get all mopey," Riley added with his back turned to the others. The small Fighting-type stood on the edge of a windowsill as he stared eagerly into the distance, where the glow of the approaching sun had begun to dye the sky into a cerulean hue.

"It's not like it'd change anything," shrugged the Roselia. She herself took the spot to the Charmander's right, huddled a mere foot from the bonfire.

"Yeah, I know," Pyro sighed. "It's getting old, isn't it?"

"Acceptance," Luxio threw in. He took up the final spot around the fire as he splayed out in the warmth it radiated. "You'd do well to have that. Mumbling hasn't helped you out that much, has it?"

"I get it." It took everything Pyro had at the moment not to snap at someone. "I'll help out, alright?"

"No you won't," Kirlia stated. The Psychic-type gracefully landed one window down from Riley and began walking further in the room. "Scizor told us to flank the rear of the group as they come through. That means putting on a hell of a lot of pressure on fifty-some soldiers, each of which are stronger than you."

"I thought you didn't care if we lived or died," Rose sneered.

"But I _do_ care about getting booted from the Guild," Kirlia replied, returning her hostile gaze. "And I think my odds are _far_ less likely if I return with a casualty count of zero."

"You could just Hypnosis us if you wanted to," Pyro growled.

"I thought about it. But then you wouldn't be able to run if any of their attacks go stray and hit us here," Kirlia shrugged. The Charmander clenched a fist with his claws.

"So what's the game plan?" Luxio asked in a desperate attempt to change the subject.

"He told us to wait for their tactician- an Alakazam- to cross into the city before we strike," Kirlia answered. "He seemed to specifically emphasize their tactician. Must have something to do with Slowking's predictions."

"Predictions?" Riley tilted his head and turned towards the group.

"Right," Kirlia grumbled. "sometimes I forget I'm dealing with your empty fuckin' head."

"There are some Pokemon who are able to see the future naturally," Rose answered. The Riolu's eyes began to glimmer. "Though it takes some training, Xatu can gaze into time far enough to see years ahead. Others, like Absol, have the innate ability to predict disasters, though this has to be honed. Slowking was training to be able to see into the future more in the ways of Xatu, but from what I've heard around here he's pretty ineffective."

"And no, you can't do it," Buizel added. Riley's ears immediately drooped as his gaze lowered. A brief but solemn sigh escaped his muzzle.

"He was awfully late," Luxio observed. "I wonder what took him so long?"

Rose shrugged. "I was never interested to look into the subject more than that."

"It doesn't matter," Kirlia stated. "However it works, Slowking messed up. We have to just work with the pieces he gave us."

"And what's our plan? How're we gonna hit them?" Riley asked.

"Not 'we'. You'd get eviscerated out there," the Psychic-type said so matter-of-factly.

"Who was the one that took down that Cacturne?" Riley retorted.

"You realize that… Actually, nevermind. You're not worth it." Kirlia turned away and threw up his arms.

"Says the guy who just sat back and had me do all the work." The Riolu folded his arms and put on a smirk.

"If you weren't the biggest one on your team, I'd Hypnosis your ass right now. That way you'd stop being a thorn in my ass," Kirlia growled.

"I could carry him if you need me to. I've done it a few times before," Pyro offered jokingly.

"Tempting…" the Psychic-type muttered.

"Screw off," Riley grumbled.

"You know, Riley's right," Rose stated. "Scizor assigned _all_ of us here. _All_ of us to fight. Even if we do get our asses kicked, Scizor would know something's up." The Riolu cracked the beginning of a pleased smile.

"No one'll pay attention to us," Buizel returned. "We're small. They'll be busy fighting. So long as us three do our jobs, no one will notice you're in here."

"Are you kidding? We're here in the name of the Guild," Pyro adamantly proclaimed. "We'll have eyes all over us."

"This isn't going to be anything glorious," Buizel reminded him testily. "It's going to be chaos. They-"

"Shush," Luxio ordered. The feline had his ears perked up as he carefully rolled to his paws.

"Don't you shush-"

"Quiet, damn you," he hissed. Luxio tip-toed forward to the ruined windows. "Do you hear anything?" The group paused for a moment as they aimed their ears towards the outside.

"No," Riley answered.

"Oh, _shit_ ," Kirlia murmured. The Psychic-type stepped into the window frame and swept his gaze across the street. The very tip of the sun peaked over the dunes and cast its soft light upon the land. Boxes that once hosted card games were now abandoned as all of the soldiers lay hidden behind shattered walls and alleys. There was only one Pokemon standing out in the open, and perhaps it was only because there was no space large enough for him to be tucked away. Cain the behemoth, with a phosphorescent glow to his bright blue eyes, stood just before the church like a giant guarding the gate. The grand bell had a thick pole welded onto it, making the crude hammer a few feet taller than him. Kirlia pursed his lips and spun around to the rest of them. "Buizel, put it out," he ordered.

"Yessir." Buizel opened his mouth and shot out a Water Pulse onto the bonfire. Pyro gasped and retracted his tail just before the attack engulfed the flames and turned it into a murky, ashy mess of half-burnt sticks.

"What the hell are you doing?!" Pyro shouted.

"Keep your mouth shut," Kirlia hissed. "They're here."

"Really?" Riley leaned forward to check for himself, but found himself paralyzed just before the tip of his nose passed to the outside.

"Don't you _dare_ ," Kirlia seethed. Out of the corner of Riley's eye he could see the Psychic-type pointing his palm towards him. The Riolu began to shake and shudder as he tried to break free of his telekinetic clutches. "Stay in the corner and be quiet." Kirlia flung his arm, and Riley was sent flying back into the wall with a soft _thud_.

"You…" Riley coughed twice. "You can dictate your own team if you want, but I don't have to listen to you," he growled.

Kirlia cracked a faint grin. "Is that so?" The two locked eyes. Kirlia's pupils were overcome with a lavender hue, and just like that Riley collapsed under a Hypnosis. He just laid there limply with his left arm over his chest, and his right reaching out in front of him.

"Aaaaaaand, he's done it again," Rose groaned. "

"You." Kirlia looked to the Charmander. "If somehow the battle gets carried into the building, you're responsible for him. Got it?"

"Yeah," Pyro said.

"For the love of… Damn it, Kirlia!" Luxio shouted. "You don't have to solve everything like this!"

"We don't have time to talk it out," Kirlia replied. "You can hear them, can't you?" He took two steps back and looked to the west. A shambling blob stood just on the horizon against the dying night sky.

"If they're _sprinting_ , we have fifteen minutes at least," Luxio returned. "That's plenty of time. You just didn't want to deal with him."

"What, you do? Do you really think you could convince him to sit down quietly?" Kirlia returned.

"He said he just wanted to see the scale of war." The feline took a few steps forward. "Yes, I do believe that I could have convinced him. But now you just delayed the problem so that Team Hellraisers will have to deal with all that excitement." The Charmander nodded.

"Relax. I know what I'm doing." The Psychic-type looked at the sleeping Riolu like he was some specimen in a terrarium. "It wasn't a heavy Hypnosis. Give it an hour or two and he'll be awake. And by then, if things go well, the enemy numbers will have thinned out enough for him to survive out there."

"And if they don't go well?" Rose asked.

"Well… if they don't, he _does_ already look a bit limp over there," Kirlia pointed out.

…

The frigid desert winds whispered through the ruins of the city. Its lonely cries carried through the holes and cracks to form the chilling requiem of all the souls that had been lost before on these grounds, like the ghostly siren's song calling more to join them- more blood to be soaked up by the thirsty sands who will never be satisfied. Cain stood still like a guardian deity ahead of the church with the crude hammer in his hands, his heavy tail sweeping from one side of the abandoned street to the other.

Of course, the tower had been protected just as well. The surrounding area had been stripped of all materials in order to erect it, so the soldiers posted there had no room to hide. Within a hundred yard radius of barren sand stood just under a hundred Pokemon of varying species. Like the other division had been doing until a few minutes prior, they were gathered in small groups roughly in position for where they should have been. Bulky giants like Tyranitar and Claydol played some simple checkers-esque game with rocks on a grid drawn in the dirt whilst ranged attackers like Jolteon and Florges sat and conversed to distract themselves.

The greatbow upon the top of the tower was drawn, as it had been for as long as Gothitelle had been standing there. A damaged, rough bolt was locked onto the cable and aimed at the shambling mass approaching the other group. The tip had been slightly bent, and the bow using it was no beauty either. They levitated by Gothitelle's side like a familiar, mimicking every turn of her head and aiming where her gaze had set itself. Her very body was trembling more and more with each step the enemy put forward, and her weapon followed suit.

"Easy there," soothed Grovyle, who had been posted by her side along with Slowking. "Deep breaths. Focus on what's ahead of you."

"I am," Gothitelle answered. "That's the issue here- I'm not _used_ to this kind of thing."

"You'll do fine. You do this kind of thing with a needle all the time."

"Yeah, but that is supposed to seal wounds. You know, _save_ people. Not…" She paused for a moment. "Don't get me wrong, I'm not against violence. If it weren't for it, I wouldn't have a job. But this…"

"It's a lot different when you're putting yourself on the line, ain't it? Being the one who makes the mess, not just cleaning up?" Grovyle posed. "Welcome to my world. Don't make yourself too comfortable."

"Gothitelle, please- just focus. We need you to shoot," Slowking pleaded. "They're gonna be coming for us here, and if you can't-"

"You're just gonna make it worse," Grovyle barked. She turned back to the Psychic-type, who now stood next to a clattering greatbow.

"Well I'm sorry, but-"

"I know, Scizor needs me. Everyone needs me. This thing's the whole reason he built a tower," Gothitelle stated. "You don't need to give me a speech."

"But we're running out of _time_. They hit us in the east just before the battle in the west got started," Slowking added. He turned towards the southeast, where a swift hoard of shadows was moving along the horizon. Some flew, some ran, and all were noticeably curving towards them.

"What?!" Gothitelle pivoted towards them. The weapon mirrored her. "Damn it! Say this kind of stuff sooner!"

"I was _trying_. But no one is letting me say what I need to say," Slowking returned.

"Dear lord…" Grovyle leapt onto the edge of the tower and leaned over it. She placed two fingers between her lips and blew as hard as she could. A piercing whistle echoed throughout the barren space of sand, and immediately the soldiers dropped whatever they were doing and just stood there. Stood there in the silence as the reality of the situation crept onto their backs once again, caught between their desire for what little they had left and their loyalty to the cause.

"Be careful down there," said Gothitelle. Slowking said nothing, but the look in his eyes mirrored her statement tenfold. Grovyle gave her a nod before leaning forward and plummeting below.

"Are you ready?" asked Slowking.

"Not in the slightest," she answered. The bolt pulled back further on the thick cable as far as it could go with the low croak of the bow's tension. "But it doesn't really matter how I'm feeling out here, right? Does that sound like something Scizor would say?"

"You forgot the accent," he jested.

For a moment time seemed to freeze across the soon-to-be battlefield. Silence had fallen upon them like a fog. Even the mournful wind had died. All across the town not even a word was spoken, nor a breath taken too heavy, nor sneeze, nor cough. Those that lay hidden suppressed themselves as close to death as they could. Those that stood out in the barren patch around the tower posed with vigilance as an enemy they could not yet see past the ruins bounded towards them. The bolt gradually began to stabilize as its bent point aimed itself in the middle of the larger group that marched directly from the west. Her gaze swept to the east. Against the sunrise she could see the silhouettes getting closer and closer every second. She took a deep breath. _What I feel doesn't matter_. _What I feel doesn't matter_ , she chanted over and over again in her head, instilling within her battle's dogma.

A soft glow enveloped the warped arrow as she set her own sights on the front of the group: the Machamp. The hulking mass of muscle carried with him his great obsidian sawblade, and a grin just as menacing. His fingers would twitch with every step. Gothitelle took another deep breath, and then shut her eyes just as a dull _thunk_ sounded off beside her.

When she opened them again, there rang a dozen gasps and cries from a cloud of sand, directly where Machamp had been. She shuddered as the Pokemon just on the outside of the cloud- a Sawk and an Arcanine- crawled back to their feet as the remaining few hundred stayed at bay. But The Cleaver was nowhere to be seen. Gothitelle's gaze was unmoving as she telekinetically reached for another arrow. And as the cloud began to disperse, the little bit of mystery had been solved.

Machamp had his sawblade held out before him with one long groove carved across the wooden face of his weapon. His large fingers traced along it, hilt to head, until his gaze swept across to the bolt. Twisted metal pierced through the chest of an Emboar, pinning the Fire-type to the ground. The Emboar moved in slow, jittery motions as she placed her hands towards the wound.

"Well shit," Machamp sighed. Through the silence his voice carried far. "Gotta give the doc credit."

"He knows about you?" Slowking whispered in bewilderment.

"Apparently," Gothitelle responded. The contorted bolt drew back in the greatbow as she aimed it again at the Machamp.

"Oi, 'Stachio! We good to go now?!" Machamp stood on the tips of his toes and looked back to the Alakazam in the back. The Psychic-type nodded. "Perfect," he grinned. "Well boys?! Let's not keep them waiting!" The western group exploded with a boisterous battle cry and burst forward, leaving a trail of dust in their wake.

As they grew near, the Aggron bashed the end of his bell hammer against the wall of the church. The warped brass rang loud through the air, sweeping through the streets and far into the desert beyond. From every crevice and alley in the ruins came the warriors that answered its call, meeting the opposing roars with their own. Attacks of all kinds began to form and fire. Thunderbolts and Hydro Pumps bounced off of the barriers erected by Protects. Flamethrowers coursed around them and singed the tops of of the frontrunners' heads. Flurries of jagged Stone Edges and Razor Leaves shot towards the opposing sides. The two armies touched and combined into one chaotic mob of colorful violence and bloodshed.

Gothitelle shot another bolt into the approaching crowd. It punched through the heavy body of an Ursaring and fettered it to a deteriorated wall. Another great arrow latched onto the cable and drew back. Her hands were trembling. Metal clattered together as she aimed her greatbow.

"Look out!" Slowking shouted. He raised his arms up and erected a transparent green barrier. The Protect surrounded the two in a small dome just before a Fire Blast engulfed them. An instant after it was joined by the jagged glowing bolt of a Thunder, spraying off in all directions from the barrier. Slowking clenched his teeth and braced himself as the unmistakable swirl of a Hyper Beam drilled towards them. The attack shot into the barrier like a missile, engulfing the dome as it coursed around it like rapids. Slowking grunted and gasped. His knees shook and his vision grew blurry. "Brace… b-brace yourself," he warned.

"Hold this," Gothitelle said, tossing the bow to the Water-type. Just as it landed upon his hands, the Psychic-type took Slowking's place and put up a second Protect. The Hyper Beam ended, and thus they could see the approaching horde through the transparent green barrier. Only a few hundred yards now… "Pull yourself together," she demanded. "You're gonna need to hold out a lot more than that."

"R… right." Slowking tossed the bow back into the air, only for it to be caught once again in Gothitelle's Psychic and draw itself back. "I'm supposed to be your shield here, right? Scizor's orders."

"Call for those down below," she said. Slowking nodded and jogged over to the edge. He placed two fingers in his mouth and blew as hard as he could, making a high-pitched whistle echoing through the soon-to-be battlefield. Grovyle nodded from below. The Pokemon around her leapt onto high ground and took aim at the flock before releasing everything in their arsenals. Thunderbolts, Hydro Pumps, Signal Beams, Moonblasts, a dazzling display of diverse attacks shot forth like a swarm of arrows from an army of thousands.

Grovyle cracked her knuckles and stepped forward. An emerald light engulfed the leaves that sprouted from her wrists as they stacked onto one another and extended into twin curved Leaf Blades. She leapt onto a pillar and stared straight ahead into the oncoming onslaught. She slowly exhaled and straightened out her posture. Her hands connected and formed into an odd glyph. An eldritch glow engulfed her feet as the effects of an Agility enchanted her. "Where to begin?" she mulled. Bolts of electricity and boulders whizzed by from both sides.

Out of the blue rushed a round, white blur curving towards her. Grovyle braced herself and held out her hand, catching the blur and holding it firmly. It was a bone, slim, long, sturdy, and with a slight curve in it. Grovyle shifted her eyes up to the top of a ruined inn to see its owner: Marowak. His arms were crossed across his scarred body as he stared through his skull mask at the Grass-type.

"Excellent reflexes, Easterner," he bellowed.

"Your surprise insults me," Grovyle replied. _Here so soon?_ she thought. She gradually exhaled and cracked her neck. "Shall we dance?" she offered, pointing the bone at him.

"Gladly," Marowak accepted. She cocked her arm back and hurled the bone towards him, to which the Ground-type jumped into the air and snatched it carefully in his right hand. His fingers instinctively gripped the base as he brandished his weapon. Gracefully he dove towards her and swiftly swiped down at her. Grovyle in return leapt to meet her partner and connected her Leaf Blade to the bone. She stared into Marowak's brown eyes hidden behind the skull mask with a playful curiosity, and he stared back into her yellow reptilian eyes with his sharp, cold gaze. The weapons rattled against one another as gravity began pulling the two towards the ground. Swiftly Grovyle moved her offhand to the back of the bone and forcefully pushed it to the side, twisting Marowak's wrists and breaking his guard. Her right arm lunged forward with the Leaf Blade protruding from her wrist aimed directly at his neck. In turn Marowak bashed the equivalent of the pommel of his weapon into Grovyle's temple before planting his foot on her chest and kicking the reptile away.

The Ground-type landed on his feet, and one hand, in the sands. Ice Beams and Flamethrowers whizzed by him. His sharp gaze focused in on the Grass-type recovering from her fall. Her eyes were noticeably blurred, with one hand clutching the side of her head. Slowly Marowak began to feel a warmth seep down the left side of his neck. Placing his hand against it coated his stubby fingers in a thin but wet film. Looking at it in the light of the rising sun revealed it to be blood, slowly spilling out of a shallow cut. Marowak clicked his tongue.

"What dance would dash directly for the deadline?" Marowak sneered.

Grovyle shook her head to clear it of the fog, then met her opponent's eyes. "Look where we are. This isn't the right place for a waltz," she returned. Marowak mulled over her response for a moment.

"I see… I should've expected nothing else from you, shameful Shivan." Grovyle raised a brow. "Your kind prefers the seductive siren's sanguine song to satisfy your savage urge to slash and sever until you're surrounded in scintillating scarlet ribbons. You have neither the grace nor the patience for a waltz."

"Is _that_ what you think…" The Grass-type stood up fully with a series of pops from her joints. Her emerald blades sheened with the light of a Fire Spin rampaging some fifty feet away. "I don't know why you're so keen on talking on the battlefield, but it's obvious you know who I am. And if you seek this image of me you have painted in your mind, I'll be glad to give it to you!"

In one instantaneous lunge she was upon the Ground-type, swiping with her Leaf Blades directly at Marowak's chest. Nimbly he raised his club to block it, staggering backwards by the force of her impact. Her other blade cocked back before rushing in with an uppercut. Marowak clumsily jolted back as the Leaf Blade made a shallow cut in his skull mask, mere inches away from his eye before he fell onto the sands. Determined not to be put on the defensive, he spun around on his back and swiped at her legs with his club. Deftly she leapt back, giving him the moment he needed to fluidly get back on his feet.

With the enchantment from her Agility she lurched immediately back into the fray. Marowak swung his bone into her, meeting her blades head-on and parrying her. Brutally he bashed her side with the inside of the curve, sending waves of pain rippling through her. The Ground-type grunted and pivoted around, hooking Grovyle with his club and hurling her through a partially broken window of a building so damaged that its former purpose could no longer be determined. Marowak cracked his neck before rushing in after her.

Gothitelle released another bolt with a loud _thunk_ , shooting the spiraling spear into the flock. It drilled a wanky tunnel through the air, disrupting a Shadow Ball and punching a hole through a Golbat's stomach. Their screech was drowned out in the rest of the chaos.

"Don't waste your shots on them," Slowking anxiously barked. His small pupils focused in solely on the Dragonite, now beginning to curve his flight path as if to encircle them like a buzzard.

"They've already met up down below. I can't use any shots there without risking hurting some of our own," Gothitelle replied. Her gaze briefly set down to the other front, which had become a discordant mess of colorful attacks veiled under a cloud of dust.

"No, I mean- go for the bigger ones," Slowking urged her. "The more dangerous ones."

"If you have someone in mind, by all means tell me," she insisted through her teeth.

"The Dragonite." Slowking stepped back and pointed at the scaly bastard. Gothitelle followed his finger to the Dragon-type.

"Him?" The greatbow rotated to track the Dragonite.

"Yeah. I saw it- he's the one with the Hyper Beam," he warned.

"What kind of sight are we talking about?"

"It was in the visions. If it hits you…" A shiver ran down Slowking's spine.

"I hear you," Gothitelle replied, uneasy. "Make him a priority." For a brief moment she contemplated just how quickly she adapted this kind of mindset, just how quickly she would kill or be killed. The moment after that, those thoughts were banished. She took a deep breath and shot the bolt. It spun and whirred with an otherworldly glow, forcing it on a straight path through the Dragon-type. The Dragonite flowed around it, just barely avoiding the tip. His eyes met with Gothitelle's for but a moment. A cold glint shone from his mouth as he opened his maw before a glistening Ice Beam lunged towards them. Slowking raised his arm and erected another barrier. The ice crystals coated and consumed the Protect, jutting outwards like a Jolteon's fur, climbing up and around until they were surrounded in half a dome of ice. Slowking dispersed his Protect and took a deep breath. Behind the wall of ice Dragonite had disappeared into the kaleidoscope of colors.

As Gothitelle reloaded the greatbow, Slowking reached for another arrow and began to bat away the ice. Piece by frozen piece broke off and fell to the sands below, and it didn't take long for half of it to have disappeared, leaving only millions of tiny shards where it once was. Out of the corner of his eye he could just catch a flickering orange light, and Slowking instinctively knew what it was. He jumped back and dropped the arrow as a Fire Blast tore through the rest of the ice, bursting towards Gothitelle. Slowking closed his eyes and jumped in front of her, taking the brunt of the attack for himself. The flames burst on contact and consumed him in the pure heat of it. He could feel his skin cooking and his insides bubbling. Remains of the fire danced around before fading away into the air.

"Slowking!" Gothitelle screamed. Her bow dropped and clattered on the floor. She ran towards him with an aura of a Heal Pulse coating her hands. "Slowking, are you-"

"F-fine," he responded. The Water-type stood up on his charred legs, and the energy from the Fire Blast fired back in a glowing sphere, strengthened by the Mirror Coat. At blinding speeds it rushed for the Dragonite, hitting him square in his soft underbelly. He let out a cry and began losing altitude, falling from their views. "I… I-I just got a little burned."

"Thank the gods." She sighed with relief. "Here- take this." She put her hands over the burns and flowed the healing aura into his body, soothing and mending the blistered skin. A gentle chime of a bell reached his ears.

"I owe you," he told her.

Gothitelle shook her head. "You took the hit for me. I'd say we're even," she said. "If anything, I owe Xatu for teaching you that move."

"I can't believe," resounded the voice of Dragonite, "that I let a fat lump like you dirty up my scales." The Dragon-type raced back up into the skies with a trail of dust and smoke latching onto him from the battles below. "I promise you, I'll pay you back tenfold." Another Ice Beam shot out of his open mouth. Gothitelle reacted by raising her hand and conjuring another Protect.

"Why the hell is he talking to us while he's trying to kill us?" Slowking asked.

"Maybe we've been chosen," Gothitelle shrugged.

"What an honor."

Dragonite curved around and around the tower with his Ice Beam binding them more and more with each lap. What was before just a cold sheet had become a crystallized wall imprisoning them within. Flames flickered out of Dragonite's mouth as he built up and launched the five-pointed Fire Blast at them. Again it tore through the ice, this time connecting with the Protect and exploding into a vibrant spray of heat. The rest of the ice vanished into a cloud of steam, shrouding the tower and blinding the inhabitants to what was beyond them.

"Oh no," Gothitelle panted, looking frantically around her, as if surprised that the universe didn't heed her words and undo his actions for her. "No no no no." Her telekinesis gripped the greatbow and pulled it taut, aiming it as sporadically as her head was moving.

"Clever bastard," Slowking muttered to himself. "Hey, cover me for a few seconds, will you?" Gothitelle didn't respond. The Water-type instinctively turned around and faced the rising sun faintly shining through the steam. His eyes glazed over and his mouth was ajar as he stood there unmoving with his arms behind his back. He blinked twice and broke out of his pose, looking desperately around him. Gothitelle was still turning her head like a sprinkler. The steam was still there. Chaotic sounds of battle drifted up from below. Dragonite had to be somewhere, but he didn't do anything to give himself away. That is, until a blinding stream of burning light pierced through the haze and cut right through Gothitelle's neck and chest, and cutting through the stone floor of the tower. Her eyes went blank and her head fell with a _thud_ and a wet splatter to the ground.

Slowking suddenly jolted and the world around him snapped, vanished into nothing as it was overlayed with an identical universe whose only difference was that it was a mere three seconds behind it. He turned towards Gothitelle with panic in his eyes. "Quick- behind you! Jump to your right!" Startled, she did as he warned and leapt to her right just as a Hyper Beam punched through the steam and burned a hole through the floor. Haze wavered and dispersed from the wind, revealing faintly the silhouette of the Dragonite. The greatbow twirled to aim at him and shot another arrow at the Dragon-type. Recovering from expending so much energy, he was only barely able to move. The bolt grazed through his side and granted him a large gash across his hip. Dragonite clenched his teeth as a muffled groan of pain was drowned out amongst the chaos. Through the fading steam he could just see Gothitelle reloading the bow and aiming to fire again.

Through a hollowed building below Marowak burst out of a wall. His bone went flying as his grip loosened around it. He landed on the sands on his back with his limbs splayed out. Grovyle leapt out after him with her emerald blades drawn and ready. Marowak kicked her in the chest as she grew near before scrambling for his weapon and standing on his feet. With the enchantment of her Agility Grovyle sprung forward with a swipe from her Leaf Blade. Marowak met it with the brunt of his club, parrying her strike. His other hand swiftly reached for her neck and bashed his skull into hers. She squinted her eyes and staggered back in her daze. The Ground-type tried to raise his arm, but found that his left arm struggled to move above his chest. His eyes darted over to see a cut across his forearm. An even sheet of blood began to ooze out of the wound. His left hand grew frigid.

"Fine work, Shivan," he praised. "I'm sure you would've taken my arm off if I hadn't struck you." He brought his club to the cut and let the blood stream down on it, letting the bleached white bathe in the red until it was decorated with crimson warpaint. "Your sanguine serenade is thrilling and all, but I believe it's my turn. May I have your attention-"

"You talk too much," she spat. In an instant she was upon him, swinging both of her Leaf Blades at different targets, those being his neck and his chest. Though she found that her arms were halted as his weakened, quivering left hand had snatched her wrist. Perhaps if he were at full strength he would have been able to crush it there and then. Her other blade was connected with the skull mask, lodged in with a shallow cut.

"May I have your attention," he repeated, "for my Reaper's Requiem." Grovyle was just about to taunt him for such a corny name, but the bone suddenly swung directly at her side. Fearful that he would break her ribs, she detached herself from her Leaf Blades and slid her hand out of his grasp. The bone just grazed the tips of her fingers. Crisp emerald leaves wilted and decomposed in a mere few seconds as Grovyle sprouted new ones. She returned to her stance, but she couldn't help but to feel warmth spreading on her fingers: blood. Curious she inspected her right hand only to see a shallow cut on the end of her claws.

"What the…?" _Did his bone just cut me? It's impossible, but… there's no other explanation_. She narrowed her already sharp gaze. "What is this? What did you do?"

Marowak placed his weakened hand below his other and wielded his bloodied club with two hands. That is, if it even was a club. She'd already been passively wondering what kind of body had a curved bone like that, but one that can apparently cut? The edge was rounded in an oval… Perhaps it had been from some undiscovered species.

The Ground-type thrusted forward with the bone, just barely missing the deft Grovyle as she ducked underneath it. She slashed again with her emerald blades only for Marowak to kick his left foot up and into her wrist with a spray of sand. Nearly blind, the Grass-type kept her eyes to a squint and focused in on the blurry brown figure ahead of her. She gritted her teeth and opened her left hand. He swung the bone at her again only for Grovyle to jump over it and place her palm on the smooth top of the skull mask. She lightly pushed it, shoving him just enough for her to place her foot on the back of his head and kick him into the sand. He turned to lay on his back and slash at her, but she was gone. Marowak raised his neck to look around, to no avail.

"I'd prayed that you'd be prone to your perverse Shivan pride, but to be this pusillanimous… it's pitiful," he mumbled to himself. He put his bone against the ground and began to push himself to his feet, but moving brought to his attention about a half-dozen rounded objects stuck to his back. Baffled, he reached for one stuck to his shoulder blade only to be met with a spiny-shelled oval the size of an avocado pit. With a frantic gasp he realized what it was, and that there were five more stuck to his back. He tossed it aside and reached behind him to brush them all away. "That honorless little imp-!" Seed Bombs burst apart on his back with a cloud of smoke.

Grovyle was knelt down on an unsteady floor just underneath the window of some kind of residential building. A half-broken bookcase laid face-down on the floor, imprisoning its contents beneath it, and a bed laid tossed against the wall with its torn mattress sprawled out on the ground with its innards spread about. The explosion of the Seed Bombs reached her ears as she wiped the sand out of her eyes.

"Weird guy," she said to herself. Grovyle blinked twice to get the tears out of her eyes. _Who the hell was he, anyways? He's strong, but not their general. And he knew who I was, too… Strange. Not to mention the way he talks_.

"Show yourself, you honorless harlot!" bellowed the voice of Marowak. Grovyle froze. _He's still alive?_ "Hiding yourself only harms your image more. Come here- hone your skills against mine." The Grass-type arched her neck just enough so her eye was over the dusty windowsill. Marowak's entire backside was the color of soot with five golfball-sized red spots of open skin. The sand around him, of that which hadn't been blown away, was damp with blood. _And he's even still standing… Reviver Seed?_ "Tch… If you'll harbor yourself away, then I'll hunt you down myself."

Grovyle watched with growing fear as Marowak spun around and locked eyes with her. "Oh shit." He cocked his arm back and hurled the club at her. Grovyle detached her Leaf Blades and sprung onto the wall, gripping it with her reptilian claws. The head of the bone broke through the wall like a cannonball and left planks and scraps all over the floor before hitting the opposite wall and sticking in it like a throwing ax. Grovyle gritted her teeth and climbed up to the ceiling, retreating into the floor above.

"Yes, run! Run all you want!" Marowak shouted. Another crash came from below her as Marowak landed on the second floor. "But if you think such semantics will save you, then you're severely mistaken. Your sentence is settled." He pried the bone from the wall and brandished it in his right hand again, renewing its warpaint with the gash on his left.

"Tell me something," Grovyle yelled down to him, standing in the doorway of the bathroom she had emerged into. "You've lost a lot of blood. Don't you feel cold now? How are you still fighting?"

"If I let something as typical as temperature tarnish my name, I couldn't tolerate the shame," he answered. _That's not a fucking answer._ "'Tis enough talk- taste my blade." The blunt end of his bone struck the unsteady wall with the head of the club. The walls quivered as a Bulldoze shook the foundation. Loose crumbs of stone and wood fell down to the floor. Dust emerged from every nook and cranny and filled the rooms below. The floor under the bathtub collapsed under the weight and punched right through the second floor, shattering on the tiled ground floor.

"Damn it," Grovyle muttered. Again she gripped to the tremoring wall and scampered away like a rat into the halls. Bits of the flooring and the outer walls collapsed below, only kicking up more debri. Just as suddenly as the Bulldoze began, it suddenly stopped, and at the other end of the hall Marowak crashed in from the bottom. Through the heavy cloud of dust he was no more than a silhouette wielding his curved club in both hands. For only a moment Grovyle looked around her immediate environment.

 _Two doors, one on either side, whose contents yet to be seen. Three behind me, all of which are dead ends. The hall continues on behind him… potential new weak spots in the foundation. I could get through in about a second if need be, but keep my spacing if I attempt to…_

She exhaled out her nose and hopped off the wall. Two more Leaf Blades sprouted from her hands. "Shall we get this over with?" she offered.

"Delightful," Marowak answered. Grovyle could almost hear the smile in his voice. "Come, dance with death. Dance with me, you devil!"

The two lunged at the other, clashing their edges against each other's. They rattled as the owners struggled for dominance, each budging less than an inch only to reclaim that and more a moment later. Crimson warpaint oozed down the bone and covered the emerald leaves with a fine film of red. Marowak grunted and took a step forward, forcing Grovyle back. She broke the kiss between their blades and jumped to the side as the bone came crashing down, leaving a gash in the floor. The Grass-type pounced forward with her left blade, ready to stab it directly into Marowak's eye.

But it didn't meet with his head. It happened so fast that she couldn't tell what happened, but suddenly her blade was stuck in his left hand, nearly severing part of his mitten-like fingers. It was bound in his flesh and cartilage, and it wouldn't go any deeper. Blood began to seep out of the wound, but he didn't even grunt. With his right arm he cocked back the blade and was ready to thrust. Grovyle released her blade and leapt back, throwing a Seed Bomb at his feet. There was a brief flare that quickly masked itself in smoke as it exploded beneath him, ridding Marowak of his flooring and sending him down to the second floor, and judging by another crash afterwards, the first soon after.

Grovyle was panting heavy breaths. She hadn't a single wound but the cut on her finger, and maybe a bruise or two on her head, but she felt like she were up against an immortal golem and losing. In his position, her arm would be rendered useless, and with the wounds on her back, standing would be out of the question. To still be fighting now should be impossible… _What was he?!_

"Easterner," he bellowed. Of course that wasn't enough. "I'll retire my requests for a reasonable round with you. Run as much as you require- the reaper will still receive his reward."

Just as a rumbling reached her ears, something broke through the second floor. Not even a second later it burst through the third and was upon her. Marowak slashed directly at her from within a thick cloud of dust. Grovyle was only barely able to block it with her remaining Leaf Blade, braced with her other hand to avoid being cut in half, but the force of his swing still carried through. She was swept off the ground and through the roof. The next thing she knew she was in the morning air, overwhelmed by the light of the rising sun, with chunks of rocks and wood around her. All thoughts had been knocked out of her. She felt herself grow numb. Glistening pieces of her shattered Leaf Blade twinkled around her. Time almost seemed to slow down. Down on the ground there was nothing but death, of both her comrades and her allies. The same story applied to the skies. Colorful deaths. Bright bolts of lightning, flamboyant flames, vibrant venoms. The only thought in her brain, for only that one unconscious second, was about how beautiful it struck her.

That is, until she saw the tower being assaulted by attack after attack from the Dragonite. Thunders and Fire Blasts burst apart against a failing Protect that housed Gothitelle. Gothitelle, the army's best medic. Scizor needed her. Grovyle gritted her teeth and shook her head, collecting some of the thoughts that had been knocked loose.

"Farewell, foreigner!" he bellowed. Marowak cocked back his arm and threw his club like a spear. Grovyle pressed her feet against one of the loose stones and kicked herself away. Blood splatters from the bone's warpaint sprayed onto her heels as she leapt back into the larger battlefield. "What the-?!" He scrambled to jump up to the unstable roof, only to see the Grass-type waving back at him, and his bone soaring further and further away. "That wretched reptile… Rrrgh!" Marowak clenched both fists and ran after his weapon.

Slowking's arms shook as the glow in his Protect grew dimmer and dimmer. Dragonite's twin antennae sparked as a giant bolt of lightning rained down from above, hitting the barrier from the top. The Water-type lowered his arms and staggered back, taking deep breaths. Gothitelle aimed the bow and shot another great arrow and just barely managed to scrape the Dragon-type's tail. He let out a short gasp of pain and flew backwards, getting a good hundred feet of space between him and Scizor's ballista.

"Will you be alright?" Gothitelle asked her partner. Another arrow loaded into the bow.

"S-sure," he panted.

"Don't over-exert yourself. If you can, try and limit the size of your Protects," she advised.

"I'm not sure if I can do that on his Hyper Beams. They'd spill over," Slowking told her. "Thank you though. I'll do that when I can." A moment of silence passed. The Dragonite was just floating in place, only wavering slightly. Slowking clicked his tongue and narrowed his eyes. "I don't like this… Cover me again."

"Sure." The Water-type faced the sun and entered his trance again. Around him his world was replaced to one a mere five seconds into the future. This Dragonite took a deep breath and started darting forward, flapping his wings as hard as he could to maximize his speed. In a mere few seconds he was upon him, his mouth holding a massive Hyper Beam at bay. He opened his jaw and let out a blinding flash of light. Slowking shook his head, and he was back in his own world.

"He's going to swoop in and hit us point-blank with a Hyper Beam," he whispered to her. "I-I don't know if my Protect can hold it back, but if you shoot him-"

"Got it," she nodded. Gothitelle took a deep breath. You can do this, she told herself. It's for everyone's sake. All of us…

With a loud roar Dragonite straightened out his body and darted right for them. Slowking held out his arms as if waiting to use another Protect. Gothitelle pulled the arrow back and waited. A light twinkled in the corner of Dragonite's mouth as he sped up even more. Just as he saw before, it was mere seconds until he was upon them. The Dragon-type arched his neck back and opened his mouth, revealing a large ball of fire building up.

"Wait, what-?!" Slowking exclaimed. Gothitelle shot the arrow at him, only for Dragonite to deftly dodge underneath him. He bit down on the fire, dispersing it in a cloud of sparks. Slowking was paralyzed by his confusion. He could only turn his neck to follow as Dragonite swooped by, gripping Gothitelle around her waist with his tail and lifting her into the air. Her eyes bulged out as if to escape the fate of the rest of her body. The greatbow fell out of her telekinetic clutches and clattered on the ground. All she could do was look in fear at a horrified Slowking powerless to save her.

"And this," taunted Dragonite, "takes down our biggest threat." The Dragon-type's tail loosened around her, relinquishing her to gravity. Frantically Gothitelle tried to grasp onto his long tail, but his scales were slick, and it barely even managed to slow her down before she fell into freefall.

Control of his muscles returned to Slowking, and he ran as quickly as he could over to the edge and tracked his partner with his eyes as she rapidly picked up speed. Fast… it was all happening so fast… Something still wasn't right.

Gothitelle began to close her eyes when she felt a pair of arms wrap around her, momentum abruptly changed. Startled, she opened them to see Grovyle there. The long leaf trailing down the back of her head waved in the wind, and her eyes seemed to glisten in the morning light. Gothitelle couldn't formulate the words to express her gratitude. All she could manage was to hold onto her hero tighter.

Grovyle formed another Leaf Blade and, as she approached the stone wall of the tower, jammed it in and slowed their fall. The blade only slid a mere six inches, and Grovyle could practically feel her shoulder dislocate, but for the moment they were safe.

"Oh thank Arceus, I thought I was going to die!" Gothitelle exclaimed.

"Not as long as I'm around. You're too valuable," Grovyle told her. "Don't rest yet though. We're not out of this yet."

It was there, leaning over the edge of the tower and seeing the two girls hanging off the edge, that Slowking remembered that he had seen this somewhere before. His throat quivered in fear as he screamed out to them, "I-I saw- Gr-gr-gro-vyle!" Hearing vaguely her name, she looked up to the large Pokemon waving his arms about.

"What about her?" she asked him.

 _Yes!_ he wanted to scream. He wanted to scream anything- any actual words to convey his message, but all that came out was indecipherable gibberish. "Th-the b-b-b- uh, M-mar-marow- behi-" was all that came out. But Grovyle didn't need his words, for she saw what he was trying to convey- Marowak's bone, that bleach-white color under a film of now-dried blood, was soaring right towards them. Without thinking Grovyle twirled Gothitelle around to her other side and held on to her tightly, removing her Leaf Blade from her hand. The head of the bone stabbed through her abdomen with a vibrant spray of blood. Gothitelle's scream was one of many that was unable to escape past the chaos of the battle that day. Horror crept over her face as she began to fall, looking into the blank face of the Grass-type who even now still held on tight to her.

They came to a stop on the sands below with a hard thump. Scarlet oozed out of Grovyle's wound and quenched the thirsty desert. Gothitelle looked to the space between them to see the same blood all over both of their chests and abdomens. The head of the bone was stuck in the Grass-type's arm. If she hadn't placed it there... Her breaths shuddered. Tears formed in her eyes.

"Grovyle… Grovyle, are you still-"

"Shh," the Grass-type trembled. She focused straight ahead on the Psychic-type with a stare that screamed at her, Play dead. For your own good. Gothitelle nodded and let her head fall to the sands, limp. Only now did the pain from the fall set in, but she bit her lip to suppress it. Grovyle's going through much worse, she told herself. I can at least do this. For her- for everyone.

"Disappointing," Marowak stated as he meandered over to them. "The devil from a distant domain should have demonstrated a delectable display, yet the damned dame deserted the duel… And discovered that doing such will deal her death." The Ground-type gripped the bone in his right hand. "Another damned dolt, dominated." He yanked his weapon out, pulling with it a steady stream of blood. Grovyle clenched her jaw. Her claws scratched into Gothitelle's back, causing the doctor's tears to stream down her her face and dripped into the dirt.

"Nice one," Dragonite bellowed down to his partner. "Taking them both out yourself. How much glory do you need?"

"You," Marowak snapped. "I could've prevailed over the Easterner more promptly if she hadn't been panicked by you."

"Then it's a group effort. That's what we'll tell Alakazam," Dragonite said.

"It doesn't concern me," Marowak shrugged. "Let's clean up here and convene with our comrades."

"Sure. One last thing." Dragonite drifted over to the tower and stared Slowking dead in the eyes. "Hey, tubby. If you want to live, don't leave this here tower, okay? I'll be back for you. If I, or anyone, sees you running around, I assure you that I personally will drop your fat ass from the atmosphere. We clear?"

"C-c-cr-cryst-tal," Slowking stammered.

"Good." Dragonite smiled and began to fly off.

…

Kirlia peaked over into the streets with his dagger held tightly in his hands. For minutes upon minutes, nearly approaching an hour, he and the others had been tucked away in that room, watching the battles go on one after the other. Machamp had cleaved through and lead everyone past them, leaving the majority of the action out of their frame.

Buizel and Luxio had also had themselves tucked away in the corner closest to Kirlia, mostly trying to keep themselves loose without stressing themselves to death. The Roselia and Charmander had themselves hidden away in the back of the room with the unconscious Riolu beside the Fire-type.

There was no clock in that room, so they hadn't any idea how long it had taken for Kirlia to finally turn to his teammates. "Get up. He's almost here," he muttered to them. "At the pace he's going… One minute until he's here."

"Finally," Buizel yawned. "I'd have passed out if I had to wait any longer for ol' 'Stachio." He chuckled to himself. "'Stachio'. Gotta love that Machamp guy."

"What's the plan?" Luxio asked.

"Simple. I'll Teleport to his left and get his attention, and then you two flank him. From there we just… improvise," Kirlia told them.

"Improvise?" Luxio repeated.

"We haven't seen him fight yet. How do you propose we prepare for something without any information?" Kirlia hissed. "Just… try to stay unpredictable when you move. It'll make it harder for him to grab you."

"Got it." Buizel cracked his neck. "Keep him on his toes."

"He's almost here," Kirlia muttered to himself. Keeping himself hidden, he could just barely see the Alakazam levitating a mere foot or two off the ground. He gently bobbed up and down as he drifted forward, the last of his soldiers running past him and into the fray. His steady gaze was fixed on the battle far ahead, and the behemoth of an Aggron bashing his bell hammer with a warped gong, sweeping up Hitmonlees and Toxicroaks and the like. "When I go, you follow on the count of two. Clear?"

"Understood," Luxio nodded. His fangs sheened with a coat of lightning.

"And you two." Kirlia looked to Team Hellraisers in the corner, not living up to their name. "Stay alert and make sure none of you die on me. I know the furball's the heaviest of you, but I know you two aren't completely useless. You can haul him far enough, can't you?"

"If the situation calls for it," Pyro answered. Rose gave Kirlia a nod to confirm this.

"Good." The Psychic-type took a deep breath. Alakazam was close enough for Kirlia to see the white of his eyes, and just how frozen his face seemed to be in that stern expression of his. The boy's grip on his dagger grew tight as a soft light engulfed him, and just like that he was gone.

Kirlia reappeared on the streets below, just behind Alakazam to his left. He brought back his arm and threw the dagger at his back, only for it to suddenly freeze mere inches away from Alakazam's flesh. The larger Psychic-type stopped and turned his neck to face the boy. "What's this? A Guild brat all the way out here?" he judged from the emblem on Kirlia's bag.

The count of two came, and Kirlia's teammates leapt out from the building. Buizel armored himself with an Aqua Jet and darted over whilst Luxio pounced with a Thunder Fang. Without even a word Alakazam raised his right arm towards them, and they were abruptly halted in the clutch of a Psychic.

"A multitude of them," Alakazam continued. Kirlia raised his own arm and telekinetically pushed on his dagger, but it wasn't budging. It was just there, suspended in the air just as his partners were. He gritted his teeth and put everything he had into it, but still there was nothing. "Now, isn't this intriguing…" The larger Psychic-type's narrow snout put on a sly grin. "Could you imagine if news got out that Gallade was sending help to the rebellion? And leading them with his princeling, even," he snickered.

"You're not gonna make it out to tell anyone," Kirlia spat. He jumped up and gripped his dagger in his hands before activating another Teleport. The boy reappeared on his other side, mere inches away, and thrusted the short blade, but Alakazam merely shook his head. His teammates' bodies suddenly flew into him, smiting him from the air and bringing the three to the sand.

"I suppose," mumbled Alakazam, "that they can do without me for a moment… Boys, tell me: was this all that Scizor had planned for me? An ambush by a group of children?"

"What, did you think we were done?" laughed Buizel. The Water-type scrambled to his feet and opened his mouth. A steady surge of water shot out forward at the Alakazam's chest. In the clutches of his Psychic Luxio was picked up off the ground and placed in the path of the Hydro Pump, and with a cry of pain the feline soared off, sprawling out some fifty feet away. "Shit, Luxio!" Buizel shouted. "Are you-" Around him emerged from nothing a hundred berry-sized orbs glowing a bright purple. They swarmed around him for but an instant before the Psyshocks pounded into him and burst apart. Kirlia could do nothing but watch as an unconscious Buizel fell over to the ground with blackened fur.

"You're done now, at least," Alakazam replied. "Inferior creature… Know where you stand."

"Son of a bitch," Kirlia growled, standing up slowly. "Don't pretend you're better than me." Behind Alakazam he could see Luxio back on his feet with only a slight limp. His mane glistened with electricity.

"Oh, sweetie," Alakazam snickered, taking pleasure in uttering that line. Luxio was abruptly lifted up in the air and bashed against a broken column. Spittle sprayed out of his mouth. His eyes blurred. Just as suddenly he was clutched again by a Psychic and swept into the other side of the street, breaking through a wooden wall. The Electric-type fell to the floor with two large cuts on his forepaw and the right side of his face. He took rapid shuddery breaths as his body spasmed. "You're the ones pretending here."

"You…!" Kirlia couldn't form the words.

"Let's cut right to it. I have some questions, and if you answer them for me, I'll knock you out quick. You and your friends will live to see another fight. Maybe. I can't vow on behalf of everyone else, but… Well, this is the best I can do. Sound doable?" Alakazam proposed.

Kirlia clenched his jaw. _This is such bullshit… how can he be this aware of everything around him?!_ He looked to the fallen Buizel, and the hole where Luxio had vanished through. _Time. I need to buy time. For these jackasses to wake up, and maybe for more reinforcements to show up._ "Sure," he answered, trying his best to mask his bitterness. "I guess that sounds reasonable."

"Very reasonable, indeed." Alakazam clapped his hands together like a merchant peddling his goods. "Now, one by one… What stake does Gallade have in this war? I'd thought he was keeping the peace treaty that Garchomp had established before him."

"He didn't tell me," Kirlia answered, picking whatever he could get off the top of his head. "Scizor had sent a job request, and Gallade assigned me to take it."

Alakazam clicked his tongue. "How obedient… He didn't even tell his princeling what the cause was? Doesn't that make you suspicious?"

"Don't call me that," Kirlia hissed. "This isn't a dynasty."

"Call it what you will," Alakazam shrugged. "Now, onto the second question." He straightened out his arms and pointed at the decorative blue cuffs on Kirlia's wrist. "Why do you have those?"

"What, these?" Kirlia eyed his cuffs curiously. "They… Gallade gave them to me when I first became an Explorer. Why does it matter?"

"So they mean a lot to you," Alakazam surmised. "I suppose you wouldn't give them to me if I had asked, would you?"

"What? No, fuck you," Kirlia spat, protectively bringing them to his chest.

"Boy, do you know what position you're in? If I wanted, it would take a mere three seconds to make you into pulp," Alakazam threatened.

"You just told me to answer questions. And I answered you," Kirlia defended.

"But there are some wrong answers, and I'm afraid you found one. It isn't too late to change it, but I warn you: I accept nothing less than a perfect score," he scolded.

"Then piss off. I'm dropping your class."

"Why, you-" Alakazam gasped as Kirlia's dagger thrust into his back, just barely missing his spine. The larger Psychic-type froze. Gradually he turned to reach for the hilt, feeling it up in his hand to ensure that it was real. With rage he pulled it out and eyed it carefully. "This steel… I thought I recognized it. We meet again, old friend." Alakazam laughed and tossed it to Kirlia. "Boy, you don't know what you've done, do you? If you were holding on to that last scrap of hope, prepare to watch it burn."

"What are you-" _Snap_. Kirlia looked up to the skies and almost immediately noticed a tiny black dot, darker than the sky of the fleeting night. It was growing larger and larger with each passing second, and before he knew it the object crashed through the roof of a four-story building with the sound of a crack of thunder. _A meteor?!_ Kirlia thought. But he missed hitting anyone… "Did you miss, or…?"

"Juuuuuust wait," Alakazam smirked. And so Kirlia did. He waited there in silence and awe as the building began to rise from the ground as it quivered in fear. The sound all around him seemed to be sucked in towards the impact site like a vacuum, only to expanded outwards with a reverberating roar. Kirlia closed his eyes and covered his ears as a strong wind overcame him, forcing him to stagger back. Even with his hands acting as a barrier the roar sounded like that of some mythical monster. The sands shook with the force of it. Silence. Fights in the distance calmed down as everyone turned towards the building bobbing up and down. Another roar, this one much quieter but still fierce.

Just as suddenly as the object crashed, the building soared into the air as it was thrown by whatever the monster was. The mass of stone twirled in the air and spun around before crashing down further on into the street. Screams. Chunks of stone flew everywhere as a cloud of smoke built up in the middle. Unable to see what was going on, Rose and Pyro huddled in the corner, terrified. The sheer wind around the impact site began to clear, and revealed the hulking figure of a Nidoking lumbering forward.

"What… W-who…" Kirlia stammered.

"This is indiscriminate death," Alakazam told him. "I want you to watch as he cuts through this entire battlefield unscathed, princeling. And I wouldn't have done this if not for you."

"You… you bastard…!" The boy gritted his teeth. Nidoking grunted and turned his head towards the two Psychic-types. He bared his fangs like a hungry wolf and snarled.

"Oh dear," Alakazam muttered. He put his hands together and engulfed himself in another Teleport, and then promptly vanished.

"Wait, where-" Kirlia was cut off by the Poison-type's roar once again. He turned to Nidoking with fear in his eyes to see the monster barreling for him at lightning speeds. Instinctively Kirlia dove for the still-unconscious Buizel and teleported away to around where Luxio had been tossed. He darted his head over to the direction of the Nidoking to see him burst right through the wall of the building Team Hellraisers were hiding him. Then through another wall. And another. And another. Kirlia counted seven different crashes before the monster came to a stop. He must have struck some of the support columns, for Kirlia watched as their hideaway started to lean over. Just faintly he could hear the voices of the two struggling to escape.

Pyro had his claws gripped tightly around the Riolu's waist as he carried him on his back, frantically looking around for an exit. "Damn it, where-"

"Over here!" the Roselia shouted, waving over her partner towards a window on the other side of the room. The Charmander chased after her, but the floor was beginning to tilt. He couldn't keep his footing anymore and collapsed on the ground. His arms went in front of him to soften the blow, and the unconscious Riolu, still immobile with the effects of the Hypnosis, splayed out on the floor like a ragdoll. The two began to slide to what was becoming the new floor. "God… damn it!" Rose turned away and placed her floral hands on the chipped windowsill and catapulted herself out towards yet another hollowed building. However, her momentum wasn't enough to carry her across, and she smacked into the side of the building. Her small body hit the ground with a soft thud.

The structure broke apart on the ground, filling their room with large pieces of stone and shards of glass. Pyro groaned and propped himself up on his arm, shaking his head to regain his thoughts. "What… was that?" he managed to ask just loud enough for Rose to hear. His only answer was a low, long moan from the Grass-type. "Rose?" He stood up on his aching legs and looked in the direction he heard her come from. There was nothing but a wall between them, though a crack just big enough to squirm through revealed the limp Roselia. "Rose! Just hold on, I'll be-"

The Nidoking screeched with rage at the lack of gore in front of him. Every time he opened his mouth it was like an explosion went off around him, and given the damage he caused, there may as well have been. Pyro's eyes dilated. He knew the nature of these roars- the nature of this monster. The Charmander began to tremble. These were the nightmares he would have when he was younger, the monster who delivers death for death's sake. Such things do not hide under the bed or in one's closet, for these things were out there in the world. And to encounter one here… Rose. No no no no no. She's out there in the open, where the monster would see her and stamp down on her, and just like that it would be over.

He took two steps forward before suddenly remembering how light he felt, and the load he was supposed to be taking care of. Riley… briefly he turned back to look at the Fighting-type, sleeping without a care in the world. Flashes of Kirlia's orders appeared in his mind, but his long-time partner was out in the open… _Kirlia wants everyone alive… a-and she's in more danger right now. Riley might make it- he's kinda hidden_ , he told himself.

"Sorry," he said to the Riolu, blissfully ignorant in his dreams. He took a deep breath and ran for the crack in the wall. The monster roared again, causing tremors in the ground. Its heavy footprints sped up, and as the Charmander peaked his head out he could see the Nidoking charging forward towards the green body against the golden sands. Without wasting any more time thinking, Pyro pushed himself through the crack and stumbled out, rushing over to the dazed Roselia and picking up her small body in his arms. Thorns on her body pricked at his skin, poisoning his bloodstream, but he couldn't let it stop him. The monster picked up its pace with the excitement of movement before it: live prey. It sneered and snarled and aimed it horn at the two.

Pyro opened his mouth and spewed out a Smokescreen, shrouding the two in a cloud of darkness. With a tight grip around the Grass-type he dove behind a fallen wall. He could hear the beast rush by like a train, through the smoke and through a wall on the opposing side. This time it only took the one crash for it to realize that there was still no gore, and for another splitting roar to shake the air. Pyro pressed himself up against the wall, taking deep but quiet breaths through his nostrils.

"You…" Rose moaned.

"Shh. It's okay," Pyro whispered. "Just- stay quiet. He'll move on in a second, and we can get away from it."

"But, Riley-"

"Don't worry about him. He's still inside," he said. "Do you think you'll be able to stand?"

"Yeah, but running might be a little tough," she answered.

"You two." Kirlia appeared beside them with another Teleport, nearly causing them to jump out of their skin.

"Arceus, don't do that," Pyro silently scolded.

"It's supposed to be three. Where's the furry one?" Kirlia asked.

"Inside. Rose fell out in the open; I had to get her out of there," the Charmander explained.

"And I pricked him," she admitted, reaching into her bag and grabbing a Pecha Berry. Pyro gratefully took and bit into it.

"At least he's sheltered," Kirlia muttered. "I'm hiding with everyone else a block away. Follow me."

"Hiding from an enemy? That's so unlike you," Rose weakly sassed.

"That thing isn't an enemy. It went after Alakazam, too. He brought it with him, but… I don't fucking know, but it just tossed a building. We can't kill it in a fight. We'll have to use some kind of trap… Buizel and Luxio are out right now. I just need time for them to be in working order again," Kirlia explained. "And I'll admit, you guys have your uses. The furball can be decently fast, and against someone without any technique… I don't know, but we need everything we can get."

The Nidoking emerged from the hole it had created, and for a moment it was still as its gaze scanned for its prey. This was the first good look Kirlia could get at the monster. It was seven feet tall with thick arms and legs bound in natural purple armor. A long, heavy tail swayed behind him, and a jagged horn protruded from its forehead, with sharp spines trailing behind it and coating its back. Its nostrils flared and its black eyes searched for the children, but behind a thin layer of smoke they were able to evade its sight. The Poison-type lumbered forward and stared into the distant mob as a few hundred Pokemon stared in his general direction. It bared its sharp fangs and began to growl.

"I don't like this," Kirlia whispered. "You two, try not to die. I'll run and get Riley, then we'll get out-" He froze. Nidoking grunted as his two arms broke into the stone of the fallen building, the very same that Riley was in. The structure rumbled as it was raised into the air. Pieces of it crumbled and fell, and they could see through the crack Pyro escaped through the Riolu limply smacking against what was once the ceiling. "Oh, shhhhit," he hissed. The monster roared and began running forward, hurling the building like a javelin. Pokemon tried to flee, but the mass of stone crashed apart in the streets. Debris of all sizes sprayed outwards as a cloud of dust raised and masked the carnage. The first scalding winds of the desert day began to blow in from the east, bringing with it the hot dry stench of death. Pyro and Rose knew not what to do. Their mouths hung open and their bodies were paralyzed. "For fuck's…" Kirlia clenched his fists. "We don't have time for this. Let's go- now." He placed his hands on the two Pokemon and engulfed them in a Teleport, bringing them away from the new battlefront.

Nidoking sneered at the destruction resulting from its actions. It pounded on its chest and hunched over on all fours. There was another void sucking in the sound before exhaling it with a singular bursting screech. Rage. It had been a whole minute and he was still unpainted. He hadn't any blood or viscera decorating himself for some barbaric ritual. Just dusty purple hide, yet to be dampened. So many vessels of live meat, just over there, waiting for the slaughter. Nidoking gnashed his gnarled fangs and barreled over for his prey.


	17. Chapter 17: Hunting Grounds

Within a mere ten minutes, the battlefield had turned into hunting grounds for the beast. Signs of a resistance lined the streets. Crystals of ice jutting out of the ground like the spears of an army, sands melted into glass by blazing fire and bolts of lightning, shattered walls of rock erected from the ground, buildings leveled, pieces of bodies strewn about, but nowhere amongst them was the hulking Nidoking. Both sides of the battle had been reduced to prey, and needless to say the fighting had stopped.

Even the church with all of its fortification had been broken through and reduced to a mound of rubble. Scizor ordered everyone able to retreat further back, including his silent bastion Cain. His strategies were all worthless now, and the only pieces he had left were a single rook and a handful of pawns. Back where the Cacturne was found Gothitelle had been stowed away, tending to the wounded that the others could manage to collect. Though without any bandages or any other supplies other than some thread and her Heal Pulse, all she could do was keep them in one piece. Everything was in tatters. Grovyle lay with dozens of other bleeding soldiers with the hole in her abdomen stitched and soothed closed, though if she moved in the slightest it would rip open again. The same went for the others. The Aggron was above ground keeping watch with the bell hammer. Three minutes in, and there was nothing yet.

Scizor himself was on the run out on the surface. His transparent wings buzzed as he jumped from one piece of rubble to another. On the other end of town the Nidoking rampaged about after having followed a small platoon. Whatever side they were on, he didn't know, and he didn't care. Part of him had been thankful as he offered a prayer to the souls that had been lost to give him more time.

In the back of his mind Scizor tried to formulate another plan to deal with this monster. Its strength, while its limits are unknown, could likely break through his rook in a few strikes. With that hammer he could hit hard, but the damage it would deal is equally unknown. For all he knew he could be sending him to his death if he pressed on with that. And aside for Scizor himself, his rook was the strongest piece he had. The greatbow had been snapped, and his assassin was hanging on for dear life. And even still, there was the Alakazam and the Machamp to deal with, wherever they are. _The Guild kids_ , he thought. _I'll go grab Kit and then look for them. We need everything we can get_.

Fifteen minutes since impact. Kirlia hopped through the hole where his companions were hidden away. Buizel was still out cold, although remained stable, while a semi-conscious Luxio laid with a constantly-shaking paw. The Electric-type could respond to most sentences with some comprehension of what was said, but there were times that he just mumbled to himself about where he was. The other two sat next to each other in the corner, the Charmander staring into nothing with a melancholic aura about him, and the Roselia curled into a ball. She unfolded himself as she heard the Psychic-type enter.

"Did you find him?" she asked.

"No," Kirlia answered quietly. A moment of deafening silence passed before he inhaled to continue. "He wasn't amongst the bodies, I think. Some of them were just so… unrecognizable… I tried lifting the rubble, but he wasn't there either."

"I could've saved him," Pyro muttered, shaking his head.

"Don't give me that," Kirlia spat. "He could still be out there. Save your breath until all this is over."

"I will once you stop pretending you care," Pyro spat back. "You're just worried that you might get in trouble with your dad. Why the _fuck_ did you drag us out here anyways?! What, did you just want to impress him for once?!"

" _Hey!_ " Kirlia roared, nearly matching volume with the beast. He peeked his head outside in panic. Luckily for him, the pattern of chaos didn't seem to have changed. Kirlia turned to the Charmander and hissed, "I'm not about to be roasted by someone with 'Pyro' for their name. If you want to be moody, you can go storm off outside. Because apparently you know everything, and apparently I _don't care_. It's either that, or you listen to me. And _maybe_ , we might make it out of this one alive." Pyro gritted his teeth and buried his maw in his arms.

"Listen to him," Luxio groaned. "He's harsh, but-"

"Shush," Kirlia insisted. "Don't strain yourself. We need you to be as good-to-go as you can be." The Electric-type mumbled something that sounded vaguely like _okay_ and laid his head back down. "That Alakazam… Where the hell did he go?"

"What do you mean?" Rose asked.

"When he dropped the Nidoking, he just warped away after it charged at both of us. He has to be around here somewhere… and why did he have to drop that thing on us anyways? Why'd he bring something like that?" Kirlia asked himself.

"It's Wild," Pyro mumbled.

"Excuse me?" Kirlia raised his brow. Luxio raised his head to look at Pyro dead in the eye.

"The Nidoking. The way it's acting… I think it's a Wild Pokemon. You saw it, didn't you? Did that look like it was civilized and trained?" Pyro asked. "The only thing I can't put together is its bloodlust, but… everything else just _screams_ Wild."

Kirlia placed a hand on his chin and thought about it for a moment. "I should've realized that myself," he admitted. "But I don't know how that changes anything."

"It means, maybe we can take advantage of that," Rose suggested. "If we can grasp the nature of the beast, then we can manipulate him. He has sheer strength, but his intellect isn't anything to gawk at. If we can form a trap…"

"You mean go out there?" Kirlia asked sternly.

"Then what do you have us do? Wait here until he sniffs us out?" Rose spat.

"I don't _know_ , okay? But look at the condition we're in- two of us can fight to the best of our ability, and _you_ , Rosey, can maybe limp onto the battlefield. And this is assuming that falling with the building didn't screw up Pyro somehow," Kirlia said. "I'm half-certain that Luxio has a concussion, so using him could be risky. And Buizel…" He moved over and lightly shoved the Water-type. Still he didn't budge. Kirlia sighed. "Who knows when he'll be up?"

"Should we try and look for Scizor?" Pyro posed. "He's strong, isn't he? There's a good chance he might be somewhere out there."

"That might be our best bet, if we can find him," Kirlia admitted. "I'll go look for him when Buizel wakes up."

"You don't need to wait," Rose offered. "We'll be fine here as we are. Go ahead and start looking."

"I appreciate it, but no. The furball's already gone. I'm keeping everything I can until I know you have someone competent watching you," Kirlia told them.

"I'm right here," said Luxio.

"Look, I may not be evolved, but I'm strong enough," Pyro told them. "If things get bad, I might be able to distract him long enough for the others to get out of here. You don't want us to get hurt, do you? Then why are you keeping us here in one place? We're all bundled up for the thing to get us all. I'm sure you can track down where everyone's stowed away, and then come back for us. Sound good?"

"No. It sounds terrible," Kirlia scoffed. "But…" He gritted his teeth. "We don't have any other sound options… Pyro, look at me." The Fire-type did so, staring directly into the vibrant red eyes of the Psychic-type. "Do you _swear_ that you'll be able to keep them safe?"

"I do," the Charmander claimed adamantly. Kirlia mulled over his response for a moment.

"For once, you have my trust," he admitted reluctantly. "And if you break it, I will _not_ forgive you. In fifteen minutes, I'll make sure to return here. I don't want to see a drop of blood when I do." Without even waiting for a response, he leapt back out of the hole in the wall and ran away to scout for the others.

…

In the middle of a ruined room in the center of town, there stood Scizor, panting as he tossed about already tossed-about items across the room. For the fourth time he must have thrown that bed frame into the wall as he looked underneath it in fear. He turned over a torn-up rug, flipped up a rickety barren bookshelf, every single stone in this room was turned up like soil in the fields, and it yielded no result. The stoic captain muttered obscenities into his pincer as he paced around the room, scanning it carefully for signs of a struggle.

But he needn't not look for long, as he quickly noticed through a window the Dragonite floating in the air outside. Two gashes ran along his hip and across his tail, but otherwise was unscathed, and from the way he carried himself one might presume that he was. Though, Scizor didn't notice that at first. Immediately his gaze fell upon the figure of a Vulpix he cradled in his left arm. She was out cold, but not noticeably harmed.

"Put her down," Scizor demanded, wasting not a single second.

"If it wasn't such a tired joke, I'd drop her right here," Dragonite commented, looking to the ground four stories below. "Unless you would prefer that, I'll cut the shit and pose you a deal. Give yourself up to be executed, and we'll let the girl live. She's only tagging along. She can leave unscathed."

"How 'bout _I_ cut th' shit and pose ya a deal," Scizor returned. "Give her back ta me, and I'll give ya ten seconds to start running. How's that?"

"They told me about how adamant you were." Dragonite rolled his eyes. "She's innocent in all this, Scizor. I don't _want_ to kill her, but I will if you don't give yourself up… I'll tell you what, I'll add in a little bonus for you. We'll even wrangle in the Nidoking for you and leave with your head. And a few of your generals. But everyone else can return back to Lake Purity if they leave fast enough. There's enough bodies around here to say that we miscounted your troops and wiped them out."

"If a single drop of her blood is spilt, I will not _hesitate_ ta rip ya in half," Scizor warned. "Too many have died ta give up now."

"So, the wasted lives are your purpose to continue wasting lives?" Dragonite surmised. "Such an attitude is not healthy for the Captain to have, is it not?"

"One last warning," Scizor stated through gritted teeth. His left pincer reached into a small pouch at his waist and removed a small orb. It was roughly the size of an Oran Berry, though made of clear blue glass like an early autumn morning. A red and grey double helix pattern connected the top and bottom of it inside. A stone of such rarity and beauty had not been seen in years, let alone have its eldritch powers unleashed. The family of these stones were not known for their magnificent names, but rather for their uniqueness and rarity. Less than thirty of them had been found in total, and not one looked identical to another. The one he held in his pincer was known simply as Scizorite. "Give her ta me. Now."

"The rumors were true," Dragonite whispered to himself. "I apologize, but I'm afraid I cannot do that. It looks like today is the first time I'll be witnessing Mega Evolution. Make sure to leave an impact at the very least- if you're not bluffing, then this will be the first time someone has transformed in at least a few years."

It was just before this when Kirlia entered the scene, just seconds early enough to see Scizor pull out the mega stone. He'd hidden himself in an alleyway, just peeking out into the streets where the two Pokemon stared each other down. Bafflingly, in the pit of Dragonite's arm was a young Vulpix. _A hostage?_ Kirlia assumed. _From this height, he's probably going to drop her. With her size, four stories up, landing on sand… Crippling injuries. Maybe death, depending on where she lands._ His eyes traced the path she would've taken on her fall, and where the Vulpix would have landed stood a Marowak. The Ground-type leaned against the wall with his bone resting next to him, and a lazy eye passively looking up to his partner. _Clever bastards_ , Kirlia smirked.

And here, he started to plan to interfere. He needed Scizor to find everyone else a place to bunker down, and the Captain obviously cared about the hostage. Saving her was top priority. Doing so would put Kirlia's life in danger, but there was nothing that he couldn't handle. What he would do next was simple: intercept the Vulpix during the handoff. Teleport in, tackle her inside the building, and get as far away as he could and hope Scizor saw enough of this to step in and hold them back. And after that, well, he would have to just play it by ear.

"Three seconds," Dragonite warned. He picked up the Vulpix by the scruff of her neck and dangled her in the air. Scizor aggressively stepped forward. Marowak overheard this and braced himself. "Two." Kirlia placed his hands together and readied a Teleport. "One."

"Think carefully," Scizor told him.

"You didn't even wave goodbye. So lo-" From behind a blue blur darted through the air, tackling the Vulpix out of Dragonite's grip. Under the new weight he pounded on the floor, tumbling over and over until the blue figure was splayed out on the floor with the Fire-type on top of him. Riley put a paw against his head and began to goran. "You motherfucker...!" Dragonite groaned.

Scizor grinned at the Dragon-type and rasped his pincers together. "Well, lookie here. Ya've lost your hostage."

"Hey, Marowak? I need your help," Dragonite shouted below him.

"Kid, ya alright?" Scizor asked, staring at Riley out of the corner of his eye.

"Yeah," the Riolu answered. "A bit sore, but-"

"Run."

"What?"

"Pick her up, and run. Make sure she doesn't get hurt," Scizor insisted. "Clear?"

"Understood." The Riolu picked up the Vulpix in his arms, trembling slightly. "Anywhere in mind?"

"How about hanging here," Marowak suggested. The Ground-type hopped up to the windowsill and pointed the bone at the young Riolu. "I'll be hasty in halting your heart rate if you humor my hostility."

"Fuck off," Scizor barked. "I'm not letting youer filthy hands touch her. Riley, just get her anywhere that's not here. I'll find ya'."

"Got it." Riley leaned forward and started sprinting away through the wreckage.

"Such a shame," Marowak sighed. "You've sown the seeds of your own slaughter. Scales; seize the stray."

"'Scales'?" Dragonite repeated, a little bit disgusted. "Whatever. Sure." The Dragon-type flapped his wings and trailed the path the Riolu would have taken from the outside of the building.

"Youer th' one who impaled Grovyle, aren't you?" Scizor asked.

"That Shivan parasite? Yes, that was me," Marowak answered. "Perhaps you can present me a more powerful punch than she produced."

"Ya needn't even ask." Scizor slid his stone back into his inventory and lunged forward with his left claw. Marowak caught it with the bone and snagged it in the joint of his pincer, pushing against the Captain's might. Now directly in front of Marowak, he noticed the cuts on his arm and through his palm. "My 'parasite' managed to knick ya', did she?" he taunted.

"Nothing noteworthy," Marowak shrugged. "I'm now numb to it." He stepped forward, pushing his weapon further into Scizor's space. "Now, no chattering like that nonnative newt- no noise should be noticed in our noxious dance."

The Riolu dropped into a hole in the floor and jumped outside through a broken window as the Dragonite's shadow swooped down from overhead. Flames spilled out of his maw as he spat out a Fire Blast at the two. Riley spun around in the air, pushing the Vulpix in front of him to intercept the attack. Fire shimmered around her as her coat dimly glowed like an ember, her ability Flash Fire having taken the impact for them. They hit the ground with a soft _thud_. Electricity sparked through the irritated Dragonite's antennae as he charged up a Thunder. Suddenly the Riolu was shoved to the side by an unseen force just as the bolt of lightning crashed into the sand, roughly melting it into glass.

"Hurry; _run_ ," demanded Kirlia, sprinting further into the scene. Riley, ignoring his bewilderment to see him here, instinctively obeyed and, tightening his grip around the Vulpix, began to sprint away from the Dragon-type.

"The hell are you doing here?" Riley shouted back to him.

"That's supposed to be my line. I half-thought you died out there," Kirlia told him.

Riley smirked. "Out of everything here, I'm not gonna let myself die to a falling building."

"Tch. Whatever. Glad to see you're alive if it means less work on my end."

"Aww, does that mean you care about me?"

"You- this is _not_ the time for that, jackass."

"Stand still, damn it!" Dragonite screamed. An Ice Beam shot at Riley's paw and swept past the two children, nipping at their heels. Frost clung to the end of Riley's fur behind him. The Dragon-type roared, flapped his wings and sped off after them.

"Hey, kid," Kirlia said. "Do you know your way around the city by now? You know where we are?"

"Vaguely," Riley answered.

"Okay, I have an idea. This isn't the right- _shit!_ " Kirlia jumped at the Riolu and toppled them over as another Fire Blast burst apart behind them. Blistering hot wind overcame them like an oven. "Get up, get up, _get up!_ "

"I can't, you're on _top of me!"_ came Riley's muffled cry.

"Damn it!" Kirlia pounced off him like a quadruped and pulled the Vulpix out of Riley's grip. "I got her. Follow me- _now_."

"Yeah yeah," Riley mumbled, scrambling to his feet and running after the Psychic-type.

"Arceus, she's heavy," Kirlia groaned, heaving her over his shoulder.

"Not cut out for it?" Riley taunted.

"For fuck's- we don't have the _time_ for this," he growled. "I have an idea. Do you trust me?"

"If I have to."

"Good enough. I don't want him to overhear, but we're headed west for now. Got it?"

"Whatever you say," Riley grinned, clenching his fists. "At least now I'm finally doing something."

The Dragonite opened his mouth and shot another Ice Beam, this time aiming ahead of the children and erecting a crystal wall in front of them. Spikes of ice built upon each other and climbed higher and higher, peaking at some three stories high. Riley and Kirlia came to a screeching halt.

"Finally. Just drop her already," Dragonite demanded. The kids spun around to face him. "I don't know how you kids got here, but if you drop the V-" He froze as his gaze hung on the guild's emblem presented on their Explorer's bags. "Guild brats? All the way out here?" A smile stretched across his face, glowing with a Fire Blast barred behind his teeth. "And what nice accessories, too. The boss'd be happy to see that, now wouldn't he?"

"Who're you talking to?" Kirlia asked. Riley scanned around him in paranoia, suddenly aware of the possibility that this might not be his only predator at the moment.

"Sorry boys, but my offer's off the table. You ain't gonna walk away from this," Dragonite beamed.

"Yeah, well I wasn't planning on taking it," Riley told him.

"Hey," Kirlia whispered to the Fighting-type. Riley perked his ears. "I need to get the Vulpix out of here. I can get her with my Teleport, but it isn't strong enough to get us all to safety. He'd catch up and corner us again quickly after."

"Get to the point," Riley whispered back.

"I need you to distract him for a bit. Not even two minutes," he explained. "If you can't hold out that long, _run_. Keep a Reviver Seed in you. After a minute or so, bring him over to the west. You know, the street the battle took place on. Trail him down the street."

"Got it." The Riolu stepped forward and barked at the Dragonite. "Hey! I thought you said you weren't gonna let us walk away! What's the hold up?!"

"I was going to allow you your last words," Dragonite admitted. "It appears you don't need them."

"Get the seed," Kirlia whispered harshly. Riley removed a Reviver Seed from the small pouch and slid one between his cheek and his teeth. "I'm trusting you here. Just one minute, and then run."

"I heard you before," Riley sighed. "Just make sure you get Kit out of here. Scizor left her to me, so I'll be taking the blame if she's hurt."

"Don't make me regret this," Kirlia demanded. He put his hands together and engulfed himself in a Teleport. In a brief flash of light he was gone, fleeing the scene with the Vulpix in tow.

"Wha- God _damn it!_ " Dragonite roared. "Where the fuck did he go?!" His wings flapped and he pushed himself a few stories higher. Kirlia had managed to escape his gaze. Nowhere was he to be seen or heard, and neither was any evidence of his being.

"Hey." Riley attempted to snap his fingers and catch the Dragonite's attention. "I'm right in front of you."

"Oh well," the Dragon-type sighed, attempting to comfort himself. "The plan failed anyways. Sorry Alakazam, Scizor's too stubborn. We can just track them down later."

"Again, who're you talking to?" Riley asked.

" _You_ , on the other hand," said Dragonite, staring down at the boy, "are still here."

"I preferred you when you were just shooting at us. You're boring me," Riley taunted.

"Just as he said," Dragonite grimly laughed. "Let's see what you got, Guild brat."

His antennae sheened in a coat of electricity as he charged up another Thunder. The Riolu jumped onto a nearby wall and kicked off it with a Quick Attack just as the bolt of lightning shot into the sands. Riley soared into the air, darting towards the Dragonite. With a smug smile he soared a few feet to his left just as the young Fighting-type coursed by. Dragonite spun around and whipped his tail into Riley's back, throwing him into the wall again. Riley caught himself against the stone and kicked off again, catching Dragonite by surprise and bringing his fist into his opponent's chin. The Dragon-type was stunned. He brought his hand to where the Riolu had hit him and gently traced over the spot. Riley landed on the sands with a bit of a smile and a proud glimmer in his eyes.

"That should have hurt," Dragonite muttered to himself. His jaw stung slightly, true, but if that had been a hit by anyone else here, he'd be tasting blood right now. "Hey, kid. How long have you been an Explorer?" Dragonite asked.

"'Bout a week," Riley answered.

"A week?" Dragonite repeated, almost disgusted. Someone this young and this inexperienced was his opponent, and was left with no option but to defeat him. At the very least, he had to beat the hell out of this kid and take his shit. Dragonite's grin transformed into a warped frown. "What the hell are you even doing here?"

"Doesn't matter," Riley growled. "You gonna come down here, or do I have to keep jumping up at you?"

"I'll… I'll just get this over with," Dragonite sighed. Flames ignited in his throat and began compiling upon themselves. The Riolu shook his head with two clenched fists. A harsh breath rushed into his nostrils in an attempt to blow out the fire that had been sparked within him.

"Likewise." Dragonite arched his neck and spat the Fire Blast down at the kid. With the rapid use of two Quick Attacks Riley jumped out of the way and against the wall, then pushed himself off of it and catapulting through the air. Dragonite twirled around and bashed his tail into the Riolu. In turn the kid grasped onto his opponent's tail and held on for dear life. His fangs sunk into the Dragon-type's scales, and the flavor of blood seeped into Riley's mouth. The Dragon-type gritted his teeth as the frigid haze of an Ice Beam began to billow out of the corners of his mouth. As his scales were too slick, the Riolu decided he couldn't climb any further up and cut his losses, releasing his grip. His fangs slid out of the small wound, and Riley dropped as the Ice Beam grazed the top of his head.

The boy dropped down to the sands with a hood of ice, wiping the blood off of his lips. He swallowed what little was in his mouth whilst staring dead into Dragonite's eyes. In turn Dragonite's antennae viciously sparked with electricity, crackling and snapping as the bolts broke and reformed in the means of charging another Thunder. Riley reached into his Explorer's bag and removed a jagged, twisted length of metal; an Iron Thorn. He brandished it in his right hand like Kirlia would his dagger. _Thirty seconds left, give or take_ , Riley thought to himself. _Let's see what I can do in that time_. He didn't get the chance.

It was whilst they stared each other down when something burst through the wall with a boisterous crash. A cloud of dust and debri swept into the street, following the chaos. Dragonite in his surprise unleashed his Thunder, missing wildly and hitting a spot in the sands far away. Riley put an arm over his eyes to protect them as he squinted to make out what was going on.

There it was. The thing that crashed through the wall lay splayed out on the desert streets, groaning and roaring with an adamant display that it had not yet died; that it would take more than whatever had been thrown at it to finally kill him. It was the Nidoking. Scuffs and scratches showed on its thick hide, but there was not a single crack, a single cut, a single sign that it had been injured. Through the hole it had crashed through lumbered the behemoth of an Aggron, clutching onto his bell hammer like an executioner with an ax. Icy blue eyes focused in on the Nidoking. Cain opened his jaw as a jet of steam rushed out and vanished into the dust cloud.

"Oh, _shit_ ," Dragonite muttered to himself, his gaze alternating between the boy and the monster. Riley wasn't budging. The young Fighting-type stared in wonder at the Nidoking, now grunting as it pushed itself back to its feet. His instinct and his morality pulled him in opposite directions, and with the monster down there, he'd be damned if his instinct of self-preservation wasn't the more tempting of the two. Living with himself afterwards, however…

Cain stopped and stared down at the monster with a cold glare. For but a moment, the Nidoking seemed civilized, reachable. Its breaths were heavy but controlled as if it were taking a minute to catch itself before beginning the fight again. It wasn't hunched over, but now standing up and meeting its opponent's gaze as the Steel-type towered over it. Nidoking even opened its mouth, its jaw stammering as if to struggle to utter the first few words that it would be able to remember. All that came out however was a low growl, forcing its body to tighten up. Fists clenched, knees bent, horn lowered, ready to spring out at the Aggron.

With a quiet grunt Cain brought his bell hammer over his head and smashed it down on the Poison-type, hitting it dead-center. A warped _gong_ rang as the brass trapped the monster underneath it with the behemoth's strength pushing down on it.

 _I have, maybe, a few seconds or so_ , Dragonite thought, psyching himself up. _You can do this. You can do this_. He took a short breath and swooped down in a flash. Before Riley knew it the Dragon-type had snatched him by the leg, and he was hanging upside-down and being carried away from the fight.

"What the- _hey!_ " Riley screamed. Cain gave him a brief glance, but his attention was brought back to his hammer as he felt the handle rumble. "Son of a bitch, let me go!" he demanded, dangling back and forth. Dragonite continued onward and upward without giving the Fighting-type the slightest bit of attention. Another warped _gong_ rang, but the Riolu had his attention elsewhere. With his fangs brandished Riley swung himself up, stabbing his Iron Thorn into the arm of the Dragon-type. Dragonite let out a muffled scream, but his grip remained strong. Two more crashes sounded off below.

It was when Riley was readying himself to punch the Iron Thorn in further when something caught his eye: Cain. The behemoth of an Aggron soared into the air spiralling like a football. Noticeably bits of stone were missing from his gut, and they could be seen veering off to the far left and far right through the air. He was some hundred feet away from them, and the spinning, broken handle of the hammer flew even higher than they did. The will to fight off Riley's kidnapper was, for a moment, replaced by awe as he looked down to the seething Poison-type back in the streets.

"Who… _is_ that?" Riley asked.

"He doesn't have a name," Dragonite answered with his eyes set straight ahead. A few seconds of silence passed. The behemoth landed back to earth like a meteor, leveling two more ruined buildings into rubble and dust in the process.

"Let me down," said the Riolu. "I wanna get a closer look at him."

"You're kidding, right?" Dragonite scoffed. Irritated, Riley cocked back his fist and drove it into the Iron Thorn. Dragonite screamed as the twisted metal dug through his muscle and scraped against his bone, relinquishing his grip on the kid over an unstable rooftop. The light body landed on his feet with a pleased smile.

"Now, where is he?" Riley asked himself, jogging over to the end of the roof. _Crash_. He darted his eyes to his left. _Crash. Crash_. Riley could just barely make out the debris scattering through a hole in a building across the street. _Crash. Crash. Crash. Crash_. Breaking through the outer wall came the Nidoking, barreling through the air and towards the young Riolu. It only took a mere few seconds for it to overcome the gap and loom over Riley, just barely having overshot its jump and landing fifteen feet across from him. Under the weight of the hulking monster the roof collapsed, bringing the two down to the next floor. Riley stood up and stared through the cloud of dust at the Nidoking.

"Hey, you," he said to it. Nidoking turned around and glared curiously at the boy- curiosity that only lasted a mere few seconds. "How did you get that strong?" Riley asked it. Nidoking responded with a sneer and a stamp before charging towards the boy. Dragonite swooped in through a window, grasping the Riolu by the neck and narrowly avoiding the monster's swinging arms. Riley gagged and gasped and kicked and punched as the Dragon-type sped through yet another window and back outside. The Nidoking roared in rage behind them, shaking the very ground itself.

"What do you think you're doing?!" Dragonite screamed at the boy.

"I wanted to talk to it," Riley choked. His captor loosened his grip slightly to allow air to flow.

"You _can't_ talk to him. He doesn't understand anything," Dragonite barked. "You can't reason answers out of him."

Riley raised a brow. _Can't reason with it? What is he, Wild? And furthermore…_ "Wait a second, weren't you just trying to kill me?" Riley asked. He was genuinely curious, but he was still defensive, cautious, for whatever his enemy would do. A brief pause followed. After Dragonite shifting his eyes about for a moment, looking around for anyone nearby, Riley got his answer.

"I need your scarf," he said. "Preferably without any stains."

His eyes dilated in a sudden spark of fear, which quickly caught and ignited a flame of protective anger. He brandished his fangs at the Dragon-type. "Piss off," Riley spat, cradling the smooth red fabric in his hands. Even now it felt so soothing to the touch, like laying in the sunlight on a beautiful summer day.

"It's not up to you." Dragonite stopped abruptly, holding the Riolu over the open air as he struggled for his freedom. _Crash. Crash_. "Shit. We need to-" An Iron Thorn had been ripped from Riley's Explorer bag and jammed into Dragonite's wrist. With a cry of pain he withdrew his arm, releasing Riley to plummet down to the ground with a soft _thud_. "You little piece of shit," he groaned, carefully grasping the twisted piece of metal in his hand. On the count of two he pulled it out and tossed the bloodied Iron Thorn to the side. "I _helped_ you, and th-" _Crash_. There the Nidoking emerged once again, from a hole in the wall on the third floor, with its savage gaze set upon the Dragon-type. It flashed a gnarled grin and pushed off the floor, breaking a chunk of it off, and catapulted towards its supposed comrade. In a blind panic Dragonite flapped his wings to push himself backwards whilst firing an Ice Beam at the monster. It hit the thing in the left arm, coating it in a thick layer of ice. Those measly flaps backward were not enough to get him to safety, and Nidoking bashed its ice-covered arm into Dragonite's head. His eyes blurred. The ice shattered. That one hit was all it took for Dragonite to go out cold and start falling as well with a hundred shimmering crystals around him.

A soft flash of light appeared in the air beneath Dragonite, and there appeared Alakazam, catching him like a fair damsel. He watched with intrigue as the Nidoking picked up on his arrival and, even whilst still arcing back to earth, glared at the Psychic-type with hatred. Not rage, _hatred_ , for all the time Nidoking had spent chained up by its own captor, unable to unleash itself as it was now. If he were to reappear, that would mean going back to the chains; going back to the constant rattling, reminding it that it is in fact bound by its watchful warden. Unacceptable. Kill the warden. Kill everyone.

Nidoking landed on all fours and turned around to the Psychic-type, snarling like a hungry wolf. Alakazam frowned at this disgusting display. Bitterly he shook his head and spoke to the monster, as if it could understand what he says. "You are an atrocious creature, you know that? If it were up to me, I'd have you killed." As if Nidoking could hear and take offense to this, it roared in anger and started towards them. "Come now, Dragonite. We can't have you die just yet." He shifted his fallen comrade in his arms and stared down at the Riolu brushing the sand out of his fur. "I'll be back for your corpse later, boy. Presuming that there'll be one left anyways." Another soft flash of light shone around Alakazam, and then he was gone. It was just Riley, and a Nidoking roaring in anger that its warden had fled. At the very least, it had a punching bag to take it out on.

"Shit," Riley mumbled as the arbiter of strength focused his attention on him. A barbarian like Nidoking wouldn't hold back like the others, and the raw power it possessed shattered down walls like they were tin foil. An opponent like this wouldn't hesitate to rip him apart and decorate with his entrails like a cannibal wedding. Riley couldn't help but grimly smile and reach for another Iron Thorn, one of four he had left. _One minute_. Kirlia's words flashed in his mind. He must've been waiting for the Riolu to escort him back, but Dragonite had already been taken care of. His job was done. What's the harm in testing himself?

Nidoking lurched forward, covering the distance between them in an instant. Riley only managed to not get tackled and crushed by instinctively leaping out of the way with a Quick Attack, and another _crash_ sounded off behind him. _Crash. Crash_. It stopped, and then turned around back towards the boy. With a grunt Nidoking began to break through the walls again and enter the streets, and emerging seconds later through a hole neighboring the one it entered through.

The Riolu leapt forward into the air, clutching his Iron Thorn in both hands. With a thick hide, he'd need as much force as he could to punch through it. If he couldn't do so much as that, there wasn't a chance he could do anything. The child roared and thrusted the thorn down onto the Nidoking, who stared with fascination as the kid did so. The tip hit the top of the Poison-type's skull. It slid right off, scraping against the thick hide as if it were stone. The narrow end of the Iron Thorn bent under the force, and a bewildered Riley crashed against the side of the monster's horn, holding himself as his gaze was fixated on his weapon rendered useless.

Nidoking shook its head, shaking Riley and exposing his gut for its left fist to bash into. The Riolu remembered having his stomach pushed in so far that he felt like he was about to vomit up his guts. He remembered abruptly being some two blocks away against a dirty stone wall. He could remember the taste of blood in his mouth, his own this time, and a complete absence of thought. That is, save for one: test failed.

The next thirty seconds were vague in his memory, but he phased in with the Nidoking lumbering across the street from side to side, turning up stones and looking behind walls in search of its warden. There was a voice that he couldn't recognize shouting out, "Excuse me! Can I please see who's in charge here?!" Confused and dazed, Riley turned to see who this was. The thoughts rushed back into his mind. His blurred red eyes grew wide and focused in on the figures.

In the light of the morning Gallade gleamed like a radiant hero with the hot desert wind blowing against him. His deep green hair and blue crest shone like a jade crown against the golden sands. Even where he stood now, Gallade retained his usual demeanour. His long pale legs striding down the street, his arms swaying at his side, his head turning from side to side as his single ruby eye looked around for an employee to heed his call- it was as if Gallade had just stumbled onto the site and was asking for directions.

Riley recognized the Pokemon walking behind him as Blaziken, the gate guard that took the day shift. Her eyes hung half-open as she followed behind the Guildmaster by a few feet. Flames weakly burnt around her wrists. Through a jumble of thoughts knocked loose, Riley could recall seeing her sat out on the Guild's porch with a mug of coffee in her hand, seemingly not caring who came or went inside. At the very least she never acknowledged them.

"Oh." The steady gaze of Gallade aimed itself over to Riley, only a few blocks away. The boy felt himself constrict from the acknowledgement from his guildmaster. He pushed himself up against the wall and prayed to God he could somehow slip through. No such luck. "There you are. You can walk, can't you?"

"I-... Yeah, I should." With his gaze set to the ground Riley forced his aching legs to bend, and after a few shaky seconds managed to prop himself up against the wall.

"Good. Good." Gallade engulfed himself in a soft glow and Teleported before the child. "Now, where does it hurt?"

"I'm fine," Riley insisted.

"You should know I'm _notorious_ for detecting lies," Gallade warned him, squatting down to meet the Riolu face-to-face. "And what's this?" He pointed his left index finger down to an indentation in the boy's stomach. The fur around there was dampened red, but not bleeding profusely. Riley shifted his gaze to the side. "I'll tell you, boy, you had me worried. I'm glad you've at least held together. If it's hurting you a lot we'll have someone around here look at you. If not, Audino will be relieved to see you come back in one piece."

"I would've been fine," Riley mumbled. He pointed his finger at the Nidoking, still checking every cavern for Alakazam, like a child tattling on his bully. "He just showed up and started wrecking everything." Gallade turned to meet the monster grunting to itself as it broke through wall after wall and scavenged for its warden with ever-increasing rage.

"They've got a Wildie, do they…?" Gallade chuckled to himself. "Alright. I think I got it… Excuse me!" he bellowed. Nidoking turned to face the Guildmaster. "I'm looking for the owner of this Nidoking! Are they anywhere within earshot?!" Silence.

"Well, look who showed up." Nidoking's warden popped into existence levitating some twenty feet in the air between Gallade and his monster. "The Mercenary King of Majula. What business do you have here?"

"It appears that some of my kids came here without permission," Gallade admitted. "I was hoping that you could… end this, you know? Everything is in tatters. Both sides can go home and regroup, and hopefully my kids haven't done anything that would harm the relationship between our parties."

"You're talking to the wrong guy," Alakazam shrugged. "Our general is out, so if you want to speak to him yourself, I can call him in for you. They released him just for today: Machamp the Cleaver."

"Cleaver?" Gallade repeated. "My, you must be desperate."

"Furthermore, don't think I will tolerate your insult," Alakazam continued. "We're this close to victory. By sunset we should have them wiped out. You think we'll just retreat and take the moral win? Give them another good ol' college try? Sorry. We're not as naive as those over on the west side of the mountains."

"Impressive." Gallade cracked a smile and looked up to the levitating Psychic-type. "Were you prepared for me? Or did you just make that up on the spot?"

"You dare again in-"

"I've been around many of this Nidoking's ilk before," he sternly spat. "I know their nature- their strength. You're not going to retreat because you can't recapture your monster. You're not going to leave it behind because it would be too great of a loss, and there are those who would not appreciate such." Silence. The two Psychic-types stared each other down in an ethereal battle for dominance. The Nidoking growled and gnashed its fangs as it trembled forward, only slowed by the heavy grasp of Alakazam's telekinesis.

"I should've known that no one would know the Wildies better than you," he sighed. "You're right. Question is, what're you gonna do about it?"

"Well, you need someone to restrain your monster," Gallade explained. "You might've planned to fight him yourself afterwards. Maybe with some of your partners. This would be with a great amount of risk of permanent damage. Allow the guild to take that responsibility for you."

"And why would you do that?"

"Right to the chase. I like it," Gallade grinned. "My fee is simple, and quite reasonable if I do say so myself. I only ask for two weeks. Fourteen days of no fighting between your parties or any representatives. Give them _some_ time to regroup on both sides so this can be a proper fight once again. To end a match with so few players doesn't sit well with me."

"A ceasefire…" Alakazam scratched his chin. "Again, you ask for something I cannot give you. The Cleaver is this army's general. I, however, run a small group of mercenaries, and I do like to repay my debts. Machamp's a dipshit. He'll probably keep running in until he's the last one standing. At the very least, I can promise you that we'll retire from this job, taking many of his key warriors, and I'll do what I can with the general. Sound fair?"

"I'll take it," Gallade nodded.

"May I ask, what your plan is to take him down?" Alakazam floated around and faced the Nidoking. The monster was right underneath him, ready to break his telekinetic shackles and finally kill its damned warden.

"Me." Alakazam, Gallade, and Riley as well turned to see Blaziken walking into the conversation. She cracked her neck and shook off her dreary expression. "I'll be damned if you took me this far just to go on a long walk."

Gallade shrugged. "If you insist."

"You're joking, right?" asked Alakazam.

"Let's find out," replied the Guildmaster. All eyes were on the Nidoking glaring up at the levitating Psychic-type, its arms shaking to the point of vibrating, its tail spasming on the sand with a series of loud thumps. The monster opened its jaws and unleashed a mighty roar, sending a tremor through the immediate area.

Blaziken took a gradual inhale through her nostrils and took a few steps backwards. Flames around her wrist billowed and flared as she tightened up her fists. She focused dead ahead on the Nidoking, glaring directly at its left cheek. The monster's arms suddenly snapped out to its sides, breaking free of its restraints. It grinned up at Alakazam, squatting down and bending its knees.

It only took two rapid leaping strides for Blaziken to close the difference between herself and the Nidoking. Before anyone knew it her knee had thrusted into the side of the beast's head. The left side of its head began pushing itself into the right, distorting the skin for a moment as Nidoking sprawled out on the ground. Drool nursed the thirsty sands as it laid there with its arms outstretched and the spines on its back stabbed into the dirt. Blaziken exhaled, and a scattering of sparks flew out and died in the air. She loomed over it with one leg raised over its neck like a guillotine.

With a surprising amount of agility for such a creature, Nidoking reached up and snatched her leg in its hand and gripped it as hard as it could. It quickly pried itself out of the dirt and lifted her ankle high into the air. Blaziken opened her mouth and unleashed a stream of fire, but all it seemed to do was course around Nidoking's thick body as if it were just water. It growled fiercely and swung the Fire-type out of its way, keeping its focus on Alakazam. It put its left hand up to its face and manually repositioned its jaw, and then gnashed its fangs again to test if was in working order. It grinned again.

"Should… should we move out of the way?" Riley asked.

"Nonsense," Gallade answered. He looked up to Alakazam arrogantly. "The show's just about to start. Stay perfectly still, and observe."

Nidoking bent its legs and pounced upwards to Alakazam, only to be met with a spinning flaming kick crashing into its forehead directly next to its horn. The Poison-type grunted and bashed back into the floor as Blaziken spiked him down. With her teeth gritted she darted after it, wrapping her talons around its neck. Nidoking groaned and gasped as Blaziken choked it with her fiery grip and dug into its thick hide.

With a gargled roar Nidoking grabbed her by the leg, physically dragging her talons out of it and turning the small wounds into gashes along its neck, and smashed the Fire-type into the dirt. Anger burned in its eyes as blood began to seep out. It brandished its fangs and spun over towards her, swinging its fist at the pestering Blaziken. She rolled out of the way as a small explosion of sand scattered into the air. Through the obscurity Nidoking jabbed its thick tail at her and caught her square in the chest. Blaziken groaned as she was pushed backwards. Her feathers began to dampen and turn to a darker shade of red as in turn she began to bleed out of a rough wound.

The monster stood up. Blaziken mirrored it. Pure black predatory eyes narrowed in at the Fire-type as its nostrils flared, its breath steaming in the desert air. Her blue eyes diligently looked back at it. Strength like this shouldn't come without training, but to see power in its raw, unskilled form was almost unsettling for a warrior. She clenched her fists. It may have been unsettling, but being unsettled didn't really matter, now does it?

Nidoking barreled forward and closed the distance between them. Blaziken lunged forward and hit the thing square in the nose with a flame-coated kick. That didn't stop it. The jagged horn plunged into Blaziken's chest and injected its venom into a new wound right next to where the other one was. It pushed forward more until its skull bashed into her chest, and the tip of the horn poked through her back. Nidoking formed a grin and raised its neck, bringing Blaziken into the air. She clenched her jaw and drove her right knee into its cheek and molded an indentation. The impact forced one of its fangs out of the gums and spinning into the air with a trail of blood specks behind it. The Poison-type roared, sending tremors through the ground, and hurled her off the horn and onto the floor. It spun around and whipped its tail into Blaziken's back, firing her off and into yet another destructible wall.

Only a few seconds passed before she emerged again standing on her own two feet as if nothing had happened. Even with the two holes in her chest, and streams of blood pouring out of her beak-like nose as she breathed, and even the cold burn of venom in her veins, she still retained her overall apathetic aura. The monster seemed puzzled for a moment, as if its brain was capable of formulating questions, as the organism across from it was still standing fine. Come to think of it, there hadn't been that piercing _snap_ of her spine breaking in two when its tail hit her. Nidoking started to salivate at the thought of how tough that meat must be, and the taste of the raw power within her. Its arms began to vibrate and its tail to writhe as a euphoric excitement came over it.

The Fire-type jumped forward as the flames around her wrist billowed into infernos. With blinding speed she drove a bursting Fire Punch into the thick hide of Nidoking's chest. An explosion of flames pushed the monster off its feet and pushed it to its back several feet away. It began to stand up with a roar, but it was cut off as Blaziken sprinted in and bashed her knee into its chin. Nidoking was silenced. It soared into and through a thin wall. Wood splintered and shattered, and a cloud of dust formed around it. Silence. Blaziken quietly began to pant. Two of the fingers on her left arm grew numb.

"Holy shit," Riley whispered, fixated on the same Blaziken he usually saw half-asleep and leaning against the cabin wall. The very same one that sipped on a mug of coffee all morning and, as far as anyone knew, did nothing else day after day. Watching her now made the boy forget about his own injuries.

"I was thinking just the same thing," Alakazam said to him. Anxiously he began to stroke his moustache as he studied the Fire-type carefully.

Nidoking burst out of the dust like a cannonball and tackled Blaziken to the ground. The thing seethed over her, blood dripping from between its jaws and trickling down to her already damp feathers. It held its fists together in the air and quickly brought them down to the sand like a hammer. Blaziken rolled out of the way to avoid the direct attack, but the shockwaves of an Earthquake bounced her off into the air. The already unstable ruins quivered with a low, rumbling choir. They were reduced to their knees and collapsed to the ground in a pile of rubble. Nidoking brought up its leg and kicked it into the side of Blaziken, placing her on top of one of these piles.

Yet again she stood herself up and looked to the monster without waiting for a single moment to pass. Her nose bled and her hip bore an indentation of the shape of Nidoking's foot, yet the Fire-type strode down the rubble as if nothing was wrong. Upon hopping down to the sands she glared into the large black eyes of the monster and raised her right leg like a crane. Nidoking flared its nostrils, unleashing two thin clouds of steam into the air, and rushed forward towards the warrior. Blaziken took a deep breath and thrusted forward with a Blaze Kick, meeting the monster's stomach with an explosive impact. She felt her talons pierce its thick hide and dig into the viscera underneath as a veil of fire billowed out from the attack. Not only did it stop the monster in its tracks, but its feet slid back in the sands as she kept it at bay, frantically grasping for her neck.

With an irritated groan the monster reached both of its hands at her leg, taking a firm hold of it, and physically pulled the talons out of it. It dug its fingers into her skin and quickly began to crush her leg between its palms. Blaziken tugged back on it, but the monster's grip held strong. The wet, muffled _snap_ of her bone sent a shock through her body, causing her to wince for the first time in this duel. She gritted her teeth and through them took a deep breath. The usual apathy about her burned away, and for but a moment she seemed to shine with a brilliant… passion, perhaps? As the Riolu watched in fascination, he could not specifically name what he saw, but it was stunning.

Blaziken lunged forward with her other leg, putting all of her weight on the crushed mass of muscle and feathers that was her right foot, and crashed her knee into the bottom of Nidoking's chin. Its head arched back with a quiet groan, and it staggered back just a few steps, but its grip still held. If anything it was stronger than it was before. With a fierce battle cry, she spun around on her right leg, twisting it apart in the Nidoking's grasp. Skin and muscle ripped apart as she twirled around in scarlet hues, until yet another Blaze Kick crashed into the side of the Poison-type's face. It cried out in pain as a fiery explosion consumed its head, burning part of its hide black. Big black eyes blurred as Nidoking began to fall back onto the ground. Its grip loosened around her leg.

She fell on the wounded mass of muscle and feathers, wincing again upon contact. Quickly the Fire-type shifted her weight to the other leg and loomed over the fallen monster for a moment. A few seconds passed before she nodded and began to hop towards her Guildmaster on one leg. "Finished," she said casually. The apathy emerged again from the ashes of whatever that radiance was.

"Well, I'll be damned," whispered Alakazam, gently stroking his chin as he inspected the wounded warrior. "It's not every day I get to see someone like you emerge."

"Cherish it," she told him, not bothering to meet his gaze. "It'll be a while until he takes me for a walk again."

"That so…?" Alakazam shifted his attention to the fallen monster, still motionless. "Regardless, I owe you my thanks, Guild knightess. You saved me the trouble of having to crush him myself. If you need your leg to be-"

"I'm fine," she insisted. "I just need a Pecha Berry."

"Yeah, no. We're getting you looked at," Gallade said. Riley reached into his Explorer's bag and, after fumbling around for a second, tossed Blaziken a small pink berry. She caught it deftly and downed it in one fluid motion. "Still though, you did great out there. I'm thankful I brought you along."

"Tch. As if you couldn't have taken the thing yourself," Blaziken scoffed.

"I know, but it would've been so much more boring if I went by my lonesome," Gallade laughed to himself. Blaziken rolled her eyes as she came to a stop a few feet beside the Guildmaster. With a subtle but sudden change of tone, the Guildmaster continued. "Plus, who knows if your bomb would still be in one piece if I went at him?"

"How considerate," muttered Alakazam. He cleared his throat. "I believe we're done here. There's just one more of my guys here, so I'll find hi-"

 _Thud_. Marowak landed in the sand roughly a hundred feet away. He was covered in cuts and gashes and was, for his natural color, noticeably pale. The bone was weakly clutched in his right hand in a veil of blood, and he was noticeably panting underneath his skull mask. His harsh gaze looked to the top of a building across the street, just as Scizor landed upon it with the buzzing of his transparent wings.

"Well, that makes things easy." Alakazam clapped his hands together. "Hey, Marowak. Pack up. We're leaving."

"Fuck off," Marowak growled, not moving his gaze from the enemy captain. "I'd be a fool to flee from a fight this fine."

"I'm sorry, I don't remember asking for your thoughts on the matter," hissed Alakazam through his teeth. "We're leaving. _Now_. I gave them my word."

"See if you can stop me," Marowak challenged. "A scornful Psychic such as you isn't skilled enough to suppress my storm."

"What, ya' aren't retreating, are ya'?" Scizor mocked. "But I was just getting started."

"Oh, were you?" said Gallade. "I'm terribly sorry. That was my doing." Gallade scratched the back of his head and avoided eye contact with the Bug-type. Scizor froze. He visibly gawked at the sight of the Guildmaster amongst the sands, blinded by the brilliant shine of his jade crown. "We can talk after this. Maybe we can make it up to you somehow."

"He bought you two weeks," Alakazam shouted to the enemy captain. "From us, anyways. Machamp would probably hold out one at the most as he waits for supplies. Use your time well."

"No," Marowak growled.

"I'll force you to leave if I have to," Alakazam warned.

"You've yet to have me yield." The Ground-type gripped his club in both of his hands and pointed it at the Bug-type.

Alakazam sighed. "Farewell, Mercenary King," he waved. The grand Psychic-type appeared in a flash beside Marowak, smacking his palm upon the top of the skull mask. Fiercely the Ground-type swiped his club at him, but before the scene could finish the two vanished from their sight along with the fallen monster. Now there stood only the Guild party and the rebel captain.

"Gallade…" Scizor muttered. He jumped off of the rooftop with his wings buzzing and drifted to a stop in front of the Guildmaster. "Ya- youer actually here… I can't believe ya've actually come ta help."

"Neither could I," replied Gallade, glaring down at the Riolu. Riley, now out of the euphoria of his awe, bitterly looked down to the floor as he remembered that he'd been caught. "Let's talk in a bit, shall we? You have some things to check up on. Machamp might still be here somewhere."

"That's true," Scizor agreed. "Give me an hour or so, and we-" He stopped when he noticed the condition of Blaziken's right leg, feeding the thirsty sands. "Fuckin' hell, what happened ta ya?"

"She took on the Nidoking for you," Gallade answered for her.

"All by youerself?" he asked. She nodded. "Arceus… I can't thank ya enough. Come- I'll have Gothitelle look at it for ya. She might be swamped, but in just a few minutes she'll make ya' able ta walk normal."

"An hour sounds good," Gallade nodded. "I need to check up on the rest of my kids anyways and talk to them. Isn't that right, Riley?"

"Yeah," the boy mumbled.

…

The hour seemed to crawl by for many of the remainders of the city's ruins, but it seemed that the battle was over for the day. Machamp had taken his survivors back past the horizon, for all the carnage had been stolen by the monster that invaded the battlefield. "I'll come and get you when there's more of you to cut down," he warned Scizor. The captain answered him with a simple "We'll be waitin' for ya'," waved him goodbye, and then returned to his business of checking the survivors. They counted at a total of 47 now, over half of which were injured. With treatment they would be good to move, but straining themselves would risk ripping their wounds once again.

It was in the empty space around the tower that the Guild's party had waited for Scizor to arrive. Pyro supported Rose in his right arm as she limped over and leaned against the stone wall, just a few feet away from Riley who kept his gaze at the floor. Luxio remained in the shadows and attempted to lay down and rest whilst Buizel, stuck in a daze upon waking up, wearily stood beside him. Kirlia posted himself at the front of the group, ready to take the brunt of the Guildmaster's wrath as he loomed over them. Gallade's single red eye burnt into the children's minds the fury he was not allowed to show.

"I didn't think my orders were that unclear," said Gallade through his teeth. "'Don't go to this area'. It sounds pretty unmistakable to me. So, which one of you kids couldn't follow directions properly?"

"It was me, sir," Kirlia boldly claimed. "I thought it would-"

"I didn't ask what you _thought_. I just needed to know who was responsible," Gallade interrupted. Kirlia clenched his fists. "You know, I had a feeling that it would've been you. You're always forcing your teammates along with you."

"Sir, he didn't force us," Luxio defended. "Buizel and I went with him on our own will."

Gallade glared at him. "You followed willingly…? Well, this makes punishment a lot simpler. Shame on all of you. And how did you find out about the mission, anyways? This job request was supposed to stay private."

"You left your door open," Riley stepped in. Gallade focused his gaze on the young Fighting-type. "While you were fighting with Rhyperior. The door was open, and Kirlia and I overheard you. I don't know about him, but it sounded like fun to me."

"And that just leaves you two." Gallade looked to the Roselia and Charmander.

"They just wanted to keep me safe," Riley said.

"Sir." Kirlia called for his father's attention. His father obliged. "They… The two members of Team Hellraisers went after me to retrieve Riley. I thought they might tell you, so I… I hypnotized them all and brought them with me."

"You… did _what?_ " Gallade seethed. "You irresponsible _brat_ , you could have _killed_ them! If I hadn't been able to diffuse the situation, you could have endangered the entire Guild! Just because you didn't want to deal with the consequences?!"

"I know. It was irresponsible. But I-"

"Hey, don't give him all the blame," barked Riley, angry that his own agency had been taken by the younger Psychic-type. "He didn't force me. He didn't force any of us. We could've turned back any time. Don't treat us like we're just his underlings."

"Well, whad'ya know. You're finally right about something," Gallade replied. "Sorry Kirlia, you don't get to be a martyr. Each and every one of you will be punished for this."

"Punished how?" meekly asked Rose. The burning red spotlight turned to her, nearly causing her to recoil.

"I'll decide later," he said. "I'm not in the right mind to decide your fate. But don't you worry." He laughed a grim, angry laugh. "I'm not going to boot any of you out of the Guild. That'd just be getting rid of the problem, and I prefer to solve them rather than to abandon them."

"Y… Y-yessir," she stuttered.

"My point, I believe, has been driven across," said Gallade, sweeping his gaze across the children. "I only have one thing left to say." The Guildmaster stepped forward towards Kirlia and grabbed him by the head, lifting him into the air so that they met eye-to-eye. Everyone else was too paralyzed by fear and intrigue to interfere, and none was more inflicted than Kirlia himself. All other noise in the remnants of the battlefield vanished, and the Guildmaster's words rang clear as if delivered from God himself.

"As it stood before, you were to be the next Guildmaster after me. I thought to instill in you the virtues of your blood and hoped that, one day, you would make me proud to pass down the title."

But another sound interrupted God's sermon. The meek voice of the blasphemer, clasped in the hands of the almighty, spoke up with a passion that emerged from deep within.

"Guildmaster, sir, I did not mean to go against your wishes like this," shouted Kirlia into his father's face. "You said before, 'The existence of that desert empire is a backwards system from an age the world should be leaving behind,' sir. I thought that by assisting Scizor, you…" He paused. The young Psychic-type's jaw quivered as he looked through watering eyes at the Guildmaster's face. Gallade's stern, single red eye softened. Kirlia had to force the last words out of his throat as they burnt up inside him, leaving a bitter-hot taste in his mouth on the way out. "I thought you'd be proud of me."

For what felt like several minutes there was a wordless void filled only by the heavy, embarrassed breathing of Kirlia's. The remaining children looked to each other for confirmation of what they had just heard. Gallade mulled over his response for what was in reality only a few seconds. The harsh gaze of his single ruby eye faltered and aimed to the ground for but a moment, seemingly lost in the past. Abruptly Kirlia was jerked forward into the Guildmaster's arms as Gallade embraced his child.

"You're a fool if you think I'd be proud of your recklessness," Gallade muttered into his child's ear, just loud enough for everyone to hear. "Your actions have consequences. I won't always be here to make sure things are alright. I _thought_ I wouldn't have to lecture you on this, but today I've been shown otherwise. _Think_ about what you have to lose, and ask yourself if you really can let all that go for a single victory… We clear?"

"Y… Yes, sir," answered the still-frozen Kirlia.

"Good." The Guildmaster placed him down once again and put on his usual diplomatic smile. "That only leaves Scizor, and then we can go back home."

"No, hold on a second. I can't pretend that didn't happen," Buizel interjected. "That _did_ happen, right? I'm not still out of it?"

"I was thinking the same thing," Luxio added, his gaze aimed a few inches to the left of the Guildmaster.

"What do you mean?" asked Gallade in his usual chipper tone.

"I mean… It's…" Buizel struggled to find and order the words he needed. In the end he shook his head and looked to the less-injured of them for support. The Roselia understood his plea and tagged in to take his place.

"It's unlike you to act like this," she said. "Pardon our surprise, but it's odd to see you so… normal. It just caught us off guard."

Gallade chuckled. "What, you don't see me as a strict, unreachable figure, do you? It's in my beliefs to never be cold or stern to those that haven't called for it."

"That isn't what I meant," she backtracked.

"I was more surprised by him lifting Kirlia up by the head," Riley interrupted. "I half-thought he was gonna rip it right off."

"Drop it," Kirlia insisted, so frigid that he seemed that he could snap with even the slightest push. Still his eyes stared far into the distance at nothing in particular. "None of it matters anyways."

"Aww, look guys," Buizel teased with a grin stretched across his face. "He's awll embawassed because daddy hugged him in fwont of his fwiends." A quiet but grating snicker raised up from the group and swarmed around Kirlia, rabidly nibbling at his exposed ego.

Kirlia whirled around and glared at the Water-type. "At least mine's still around." he bitterly countered. The usual cold look about him had melted out of his red eyes to be replaced by something that Buizel had not seen before in his partner. His grin withdrew, and all the Water-type found himself able to do was look back at Kirlia and, hurt and confused, try and read what the hell was going on with those damned red eyes. For the life of him, whatever had briefly emerged from beneath that frozen layer, pinning Buizel there in its sights like a needle through an insect inside a pristine exhibit, would remain alien to him and everyone else there.

Thankfully the attention was caught by a shifting stone from a mountain of rubble, smacking against its larger cousins as it violently tumbled down to the sands below. The group turned their heads towards the poor stone to see who claimed the peak of the hill. A crimson sheen surrounded Scizor in the mid-morning light as he stood there for a moment, searching for the Guildmaster. Rather quickly the Captain caught sight of him, and with a wide smile Scizor waved him down and began to quickly descend the mountain.

Gallade mirrored this smile and began walking towards the Captain, who was now virtually sprinting down the rubble with his wings buzzing. Scizor slid to a stop in front of the Guildmaster and held out both of his arms. Gallade did likewise. Each firmly gripped the other's forearms just below the elbow and, with a low but barbaric grunt, lunged forward and bashed their foreheads together. They held their heads there for a few seconds, meeting each other's gaze, before they began to laugh the hearty laugh of friends reuniting after decades apart.

"So ya do remember, eh?" Scizor beamed.

"Like I could ever forget," Gallade returned. "I may be busy, but I take the time here and there to think about things. You're among them, of course."

"The old mon would be happy ta hear that. Even to his dying day, whenever ya and youer kids made the news, he'd try and take some credit for it like he were youer own dad," said Scizor.

"Yes, that's right. He passed away a few years back, didn't he?" Gallade asked carefully.

"Three years, yeah…" Scizor shook his head and playfully punched the Guildmaster. "Enough o' that somber crap. This is reason to celebrate, ain't it? The famous Gallade of Gallade's Guild is here amongst my ranks. What'd the world think of this?"

"About that…" Gallade's smile faltered and leveled out into a flat, dull line. "I'll talk as friends all you want, but I feel I need to make a correction for my kids. Gallade's Guild cannot afford to take part in this war."

Scizor froze up suddenly, caught between expressions. "...What?"

"These kids," stated Gallade as he gestured to the six behind him, "snuck off on their own to help. They acted on their own wishes instead of my orders. I merely came to apologize on their behalf and try to clear things up."

"But, I thought… Ya've always talked about ridding Arushar of the crown that bound it," Scizor pleaded. "Youer _own_ Guild fought for freedom decades ago. Please, Gallade."

"The circumstances are different," Gallade defended. "You know I have the kids to look after now. I can't risk their lives here. Please understand me, Scizor."

For a moment Scizor looked like he was about to get down and beg, but he held back the tears. With a deep breath he forced himself to be bold enough to take refusal with his chin up. "I… I can't say I'm happy ta hear this. But I get it. Not all youer kids are soldiers. It's… It's my problem, after all."

"I'm sorry," Gallade bowed. "If the situation changes I'll gladly lend a hand, but until now… Well, all I can offer right now is moral support."

"No no, don't apologize. I should've known that it was stupid ta ask ya for help when ya've ta look after th' kids," Scizor said. "I was just… I don't know. Ignore me."

"To make it up to you, I'll strike you a deal," Gallade said. Scizor raised a brow. "If you end up establishing your own Guild by the dusk of this whole event, Gallade's Guild will vow to assist you. We'll recognize you and, if something arises, ally ourselves with you if chaos strikes. We'll even give you the funds to construct a hall after the war. You'll base yourself out of Lake Purity, correct? That close to the ocean, you can take the issues across the seas… You can negotiate that some other day. Perhaps with Guildmaster Leavanny as well."

"I… I'd like that," Scizor answered. "But, I must correct one thing." This time Gallade raised his brow. "Lake Purity is no more. Recovering it is nigh impossible. We've decided ta rename it... Ashen Lake."

"Ashen Lake," Gallade repeated, letting the sound of the words settle in his ears. He nodded in approval. "Gotta admit, I do like the sound of it. Nice and grim."

The sister of the previous stone had been kicked off the mound of rubble behind them, bouncing off the hunks of rock some few dozen times before landing a distance away from her brother. Again all eyes turned to see who pushed her off the mountain to see Blaziken once again in her usual apathy. Her once-torn leg was tightly bound in white bandages. Gallade welcomed her with a kind smile.

"Ah, there you are. Did they patch up your rips?" the Guildmaster asked. Blaziken merely nodded and began her descent down. "Good to hear. I wouldn't want you to limp all the way to the nearest town."

"About her," Scizor muttered, putting a weary gaze on the Fire-type. "I'm not positive, but isn't she-"

"Ex-Knight Captain Leora," Gallade interrupted. "You've keen eyes." When the Bug-type looked to the Guildmaster again, the gaze of his single eye had grown much harsher- challenging, even. _What're you gonna do about it?_ it seemed to ask.

"As I thought," Scizor muttered to himself. He shook his head and retreated back into his usual demeanor. "We're in th' same boat. This news don't need to go anywhere else."

"That's awfully kind of you," Gallade smiled, though the way he did so made it seem like a threat.

"Welp," said Scizor. "I guess, that's all I have ta say."

"Likewise," Gallade nodded. "I wish you good luck in your battle against the crown."

"One last thing." The Captain leaned in to Gallade's ear and whispered just under his breath. "Ya oughta be careful with youer Riolu there. The traveler's tongue slipped earlier. If anyone smart had overheard him, he'd have been strung up by now."

"Is that so…?" The Guildmaster's face didn't budge. "I'm sorry to hear that. I'll do what I can."

"See ya some other time," Scizor said as he stepped away from the Guildmaster.

"Sorry it was so short. If I get the time I'll come and stop by again," Gallade waved to him. Scizor nodded and then quickly sped off, passing Blaziken in a few quick strides. In only a few seconds he disappeared behind the rubble, leaving only the faint buzzing of his wings for the Guild party. That would be the last most of them would hear of the Captain for a long while. Gallade giddily clasped his hands together. "Guess we're about done here," he stated. "Time to walk home."

"Wait," said Rose. "Did you just say ' _walk_ '?"

"Yup. _Walk_. You know, with your legs," Gallade teased. A collective groan sounded off from the group. The Guildmaster chuckled. "Now now, I didn't raise a bunch of whiners. It's just a short walk. Nothing more, nothing less. You came all the way out here to fight a battle. Are you telling me that you aren't even capable of walking back?"

Six exhausted _no_ 's were his answer.

"Good. Now get your asses moving."

…

It was a few hours before the next dawn when they had arrived once again in the cold starry night of Treasure Town. Thankfully Gallade showed them mercy and they only had to walk back to the nearest town from Scizor's battlefield, and they had been dropped off by a Salamence and Zebstrika. The kids crammed together on the dragon's back whilst Gallade sat behind Blaziken on Zebstrika's saddle. They dropped them off at the edge of town and walked back to their headquarters. Each glimmering streetlight above them shone down on them like a thousand accusing stares. The shame grew heavier as the group headed through the main streets of the town they had so nearly endangered. Quickly they reached the main intersection of Treasure Town, and down one right turn there was a long road that lead up to the hill where the Guild's unsuspecting cabin lay perched. Faintly they could see the jagged yellow lines on Dusknoir's body as he lazily strolled about in the moonlight.

"Hey, Blaziken," Gallade called. The Fire-type turned her head to face him. "Do you mind taking them in for me? I have something I need to do."

"Sure," she shrugged.

"Perfect. I'll be back in an hour or so," he stated. "Riley, you're coming with me."

"What? But I'm _tiiiired_ ," Riley moaned.

"Then let's hurry up and get this over with," Gallade returned. "And I thought I told you not to whine." With uncertainty the Riolu looked back to his teammates, who in turn only gave him the sliver of sympathy they could muster in their groggy states. The Roselia and Charmander felt bad for their partner, true, but they wanted more than anything to put this event behind them- to wake up with whatever punishment they were to be dealt and prove that they would still be loyal.

"Fine," Riley sighed.

"Good luck," Pyro wished him. Blaziken started towards the guild, and the remaining five children began to follow her without another word.

"Am… Am I being kicked out?" the boy asked.

"Not yet," Gallade answered. "Come, child. Follow me." The Guildmaster turned around and, instead of taking a right with the others, headed straight down the path.

"Where are we going?" Riley ran to catch up to him.

"It's a surprise." Gallade didn't even look at him.

"Good or bad?"

"Depends on how you look at it."

"I'm not getting any concrete answers from you, am I?"

"Nnnnnnnnnope." Riley huffed, crossed his arms, and begrudgingly followed the Guildmaster through the empty night streets. Shadows danced in the flickering light of the torches. Crackling flames and soft footsteps were their only music to pass the awkwardly silent time. Cobblestone roads bled into a packed dirt path, and the brick buildings alongside them shifted into simple wooden houses growing more and more sparse. Eventually all that was left in front of them was rolling grassy hills dyed blue that night.

When Treasure Town was a mile or so away, reaching the top of one of these hills, Riley froze when his gaze met a series of sleek stones bleached white in the moonlight. They were cut and smoothed to regulation and lined up perfectly with one another. Here and there these grim gray one-room buildings with small stone paths leading from them, around the neatly-cut tablets. The lot ended abruptly at the edge of a cliff that dropped off into the barren rocky fields beneath.

"A graveyard?" Riley stated. "The hell are we doing here?"

"We're gonna talk," Gallade replied. "There's someone you should hear from."

Riley rolled his eyes. "Can't we just talk about this at the Guild?"

"You won't be talking like that in a bit," Gallade teased. "You see, the old bastard we'll talk to used to run the Guild before me."

The boys ears perked up involuntarily. "He did?"

"Yep. There's a lot I need to tell you," said the Guildmaster. "Let's not waste any more time. We need to see the old guy already." With a hint of a smile Gallade descended the hill. Riley masked his excitement and hurried alongside him.

"So, what kind of guy is he?"

"This old Garchomp. Big guy- 'bout the size of that Nidoking, I'd say. Little bit thinner, but just as intimidating," Gallade described. "Garchomp had been there for me as long as I can remember. For many of us he was what we'd consider our dad. To the world… Well, his legacy is a bit mixed." He paused, evidently for a second too long.

"Go on," Riley urged.

"If you're on the western side of the Sawtooth Mountains, Garchomp is unanimously a hero," Gallade explained. "I'll explain why shortly, but to a lot of the east, he was scrutinized heavily. There were so many names. 'Idealest'. 'Naive'. 'Stupid'. I can't say they're wrong about the old bastard. On the other continents it was even more extreme."

"Other continents?" Riley's red eyes glistened.

"Oh yeah. Right now there's eight other continents out there. Six of them are inhabited. Each one has their own cultures and traditions. One day you'll have to travel out there," Gallade said. "There used to be fifteen continents out there, but…"

"But?!"

Gallade had to hold back his laughter. He took a right on the stone path, now in the graveyard, neared the edge of the cliff and halted in place. Riley stood beside him, and the two looked down to the barren rocky field.

"When I was a boy of sixteen," Gallade said wistfully, "I remember looking down this cliff at a shimmering ocean. My brothers and sisters dove in from the clifftops after a hard day's work and washed away the sweat in the saltwater. One night, Garchomp ordered every one of us to dive in and swim for as long as we could. The next morning, there was an earthquake that lasted for almost half an hour. Then, there was this barren mess, and the mountain range in the distance."

"...What the hell?" Riley muttered.

"We thought the same thing," Gallade shrugged. He continued walking. Riley followed. "Garchomp had received a message the day before. 'Majula is being claimed as a territory of Implentur. Brace all your structures. Your continent will be dragged and sculpted into place this time tomorrow.' And hey did just that. This continent we're on is known as Arushar. Implentur formed it themselves by harvesting nearby continents and suppressing them."

"H… how did they drag continents?" Riley demanded to know.

"Just another moment. I'm telling a story," Gallade replied. He cleared his throat. "I guess, this best shows the type of Pokemon Garchomp is. You see, that day, he assigned the Guild to attend to the chaos the earthquake caused. He took off on his own after that and walked to the capital of Implentur with the letter in hand. After being granted audience to the king, he said-" The Guildmaster took a deep breath and spoke through a gravely filter. "'I appreciate your offer, but I'm afraid I'll have to decline your offer to be a territory. I'm happy how I am.' He was an odd bastard. The king thought so too. He laughed the old guy out of the room."

Gallade paused. He ground his teeth together before taking a sharp breath and continuing on. "The cultures of the different nations didn't get along. Personally I think the king saw Garchomp as some kind of threat, and since he was a strong guy, he saw this as an opportunity to make us an example. He… He did not send an army."

"Then what _did_ he send?" In just a few minutes Riley had unknowingly been immersed into the story Gallade told.

"This." Gallade stopped in front of a pale white tomb in an eldritch, rounded shape just against the edge of the cliff. It was a skull, almost twice the size of Gallade himself. It was perfectly bleached white as if it were in a museum. Four smooth fins protruded from the top of its head that, sloping down the face, coursed together into one point where the nose would be. Fangs bigger than spear heads lined its massive jaws that lazily slacked on the ground, providing a sliver to look into the blackness inside the empty cavern. Between the jaw and the curve of the fins, there were two gaping holes where its eyes must have been. The gaping voids reminded him of the vacant black pupils of the mindless Nidoking. Its ferocity was communicated by the two round spikes on the sides of its head, perfectly sharp as it had ever been. Whatever monster it used to be, the means to its death was clear. A rough gash cut between the middle fins, through its forehead and down through to just above its jaw.

"He sent this thing at us, to turn over the town. Lord of the land, with the power to shape the face of the planet to his own desires… Groudon." Gallade reached up and traced his finger along the rough gash on its forehead. This was where its only stain resided, as the bone around it had been charred into a deep, dark brown. Placing his fingertips upon it brought up the sensation of burning flames once again. "I remember being paralyzed by the sheer scale of this monster. He treaded through solid land like it were mud. The town was evacuated, and Garchomp took only his finest to fight it. There were twenty-three of us, not counting Garchomp himself. By the end, there were five. Two of them were permanently crippled and never went out again."

"What happened?" Riley asked.

"We killed him, of course," Gallade answered. "It was a close fight. We met him at the edge of the Sawtooth Mountains. Didn't manage to kill him until he was breathing right on the Guild. My brother and I dealt the final blow. The cut on his forehead was his work. Mine? I summoned all my strength and cleaved through his neck."

"I didn't know you had a brother," Riley stated.

"Not by blood," Gallade corrected. "The three of us that survived uninjured, as well as Garchomp himself, walked back to the desert kingdom by foot the next day. We delivered the body of Groudon back to the king. 'I thought you'd might like this back,' he said. 'Sorry about its poor condition. It didn't really hold up all that well.' I remember just how scared the king looked upon his balcony as we left the body outside his gates. Garchomp just smiled, gave him a polite wave and shouted up, 'See ya, neighbor!' We mirrored his wave, and then went home."

"So what ended up killing him?" Riley's tail wagged behind him.

"Old age got him," he said. "One day he just got up and said to me, 'Reaper's knockin'. I've got… Maybe, a week or two left. Guild's yours. I'll spend the last of my time where I grew up.' I protested. Tears were shed. He left that afternoon, and I took office. Two weeks later I went to find his body, and after a few final words, I brought him back and buried him under Groudon's skull. I couldn't think of a better tomb."

"Oh," Riley sulked.

"Now, onto the point of this." Gallade cleared his throat. The deep green on the top half of his body glowed in the cosmic light from above and bathed him in that heroic radiance- perhaps stronger than it was the morning prior. "What do you want to accomplish here? What do you want to experience in this new world?"

The gears in the Riolu's head whirred and sparked as Riley mulled over a response that wouldn't sit the wrong way, but also one that would remain honest. Eventually he found the words and, somewhat uncertain, gave the answer he formed. "I guess, I just wanna see what's out there. I wanna have fun and learn to fight. One day I wanna be able to tell stories like the one you just did."

"That's… I can't call that noble, but you're still young. Acquiring strength is not a bad thing by itself. One day you'll find a cause to use your strength for the betterment of the world," Gallade explained. "It was Master Garchomp's, and my own, belief that every lifeform wants the world to be better. Conflict arise over their visions of a better world. _You_ would like a world where you're still alive to make a difference, wouldn't you?"

"Ideally, I want to be alive," Riley sassed.

"Then, you need to be aware that you're not welcome here," said Gallade. "You're a human; an outworlder. You merely being here is unnatural. To the world, you're an abomination."

"Thanks," the boy muttered bitterly. He was still putting on sarcasm, but his words did genuinely sting. An abomination….

"Fear of the unnatural is found in every sentient being. Your life is not natural, so it should not be allowed to continue. Simply put, you might be killed," he continued. "Since you don't _want_ that, you need to be wary."

"Where is all this coming from?"

"Scizor told me that you mentioned Scotland to him in conversation. Scotland is, in fact, a nation in _your_ world. If your tongue slipped around the wrong Pokemon, you might be under suspicion. And if they track down your history to find that you just woke up one day in a field, the world wouldn't take any chances. I'd be forced to get rid of you."

"You… you aren't going to do that, right?" he asked, already knowing what the answer would be.

"As it stands, no. You're still one of my kids. You messed up, but luckily, Scizor doesn't have any stakes in the issue. He has his own issues to deal with. Until then, it's best not to mention anything like that again," said Gallade. "If you're about to mention something you don't remember hearing about here, _don't_. Play it safe. Make everyone believe that you're just another Pokemon."

"Got it. Be smart," he said. In his head he could practically hear Rose scoff at him, _Good luck with that_.

"That wasn't part of my main point I wanted to make, for the record. I just needed to clarify that I can't have you being outed as a human. It would make me look bad, and the only way to recover would be to rip your heart out."

"No no, I get it." Riley raised his hands in front of him as if to magically stop Gallade where he stood. "I like my heart where it is, thank you."

"My main point requires, quite simply, the same thing: _be smart_ ," Gallade insisted. "It sounds like an insult. And it is. _Don't. Runoff. And put. Everyone. In danger._ "

"But-"

"There isn't anything to argue about," Gallade growled. "You want strength. Do you want to be a hero, or a warlord?"

"'Hero' sounds nice," Riley answered, eyeing the Groudon's skull.

"Then start acting like one," the Guildmaster scolded. "Legends aren't made by reckless children. They're written down through carefully selected actions in order to cause change in the world."

"What if I don't want to change the world?" the boy asked.

"Then there's no point to living if you don't want to leave any influence." Gallade's harsh words left Riley frozen in place, leaving only the soft whisper of the night wind blowing by. A blanket of clouds rolled over the moon in the sky, depriving them of its gorgeous pale rays, and that only left them the dim starlight. "We're done here now. Let's go back to the guild. Get some sleep. I'll assign you a job in the morning."

"Yes, sir," Riley replied. Gallade placed his hand on the top of Riley's head, engulfing them in a Teleport. The two vanished, and once again the graveyard was empty.

…

The hatch dropped back over the ladder as the kids were rushed back to their rooms. A weary Blaziken strolled over to the bed in the corner and collapsed upon it with her face pressed into the pillow. Through the still-open door, Dusknoir drifted into view and set his single eye on the Fire-type.

"Rough day?" the Ghost-type asked. His deep voice had an odd reverberation to it, like a funeral bell in an empty, expansive cave.

"Yup." She rolled over and placed her hands between the back of her head and the pillow. "Mind taking the morning shift for me? I'll take over some time before noon."

"I can do that, free of charge," Dusknoir offered her. "You didn't miss much. The circus will be showing soon, but that's about it. We'll be diligent."

"Mm." Merely a noise to affirm that she heard him.

"How were things there?" Dusknoir asked her. His huge hand pointed to the bandage around her leg. There was a faint stain of blood on it and a few smears of dirt, but otherwise she appeared to be patched up. "Things got heated, did they?"

"Just a little," Blaziken shrugged. "They were having trouble with this Nidoking tearing up both sides. Ol' Gallie negotiated that we would get rid of it if they'd absolve us of any potential charges. They accepted, I volunteered, and we traded blows for a little bit."

"And your leg?"

"Hm? Oh. I spun around and ripped it myself. Gave the bastard a hell of a kick though. They'd a skilled doctor put it back together, but I can't strain it for… a week, she said."

"You never cease to amaze me," he sighed. "At least we're not being dragged into the conflict. I'd been worried when he decided to intervene, especially when he decided to bring you as his retainer. You weren't recognized, were you?"

"By Scizor. He was busy with his own things though, so I don't think he'll do anything about it," she said. "Luckily the only other guy who knew me couldn't speak."

"Come again?" Dusknoir withdrew his head. The single red eye rolled about in the vacant socket.

"That's right. Our old buddy Cain was there," she clarified. "He was _pissed_ to see me there. I half-thought he was gonna crush me as the doc was patching me up. Glaring at me with that icy look on his face… Can't say I blame him. If it had been you, I'm sure he wouldn't have restrained himself."

"I suppose, that isn't too surprising," Dusknoir muttered to himself. "Of course he'd be amongst Scizor's ranks. The guy has some power, and after my orders I'm sure he detests the crown. I bet he can't wait to crush it beneath his weight like he always does."

"He's a freak, that Cain. Being that big's gotta cause problems. I wonder if Scizor's just using him for his power," she thought aloud.

"Well, cut him some slack. Gallade's using us. Doesn't mean we're not, to some degree, friends," Dusknoir defended.

"True," Blaziken muttered. "Kinda makes you think where Scizor got the rest of his top crew if Executioner Cain is his bastion."

"Maybe it's a tradition for Guildmasters." The ghostly red eye looped as it rolled a circuit around the vacant socket.

"To be fair, Audino's clean," Blaziken replied. "And Ampharos. And the cooks haven't done anything too bad… So, I guess it's only the ones that're worth a damn that your rule applies to."

"I shouldn't be thinking about this," Dusknoir sighed. "Just thinking about the damned sands again is making me stressed."

"No one's forcing you to. Go ahead and look up at the stars some more if you wanna forget about it."

"Easier said than done," he said.

"Ha. It's a bit late for remorse, buddy," she taunted.

"Remorse? I wouldn't call it that. Just…" Dusknoir held up his right hand and reflexively squeezed a nonexistent object in his palm. "I can't think of the words. You know what I mean, don't you?"

"Pretty sure I do," she shrugged.

"Imagine how it'll be if they succeed in forming a Guild. Meetings are gonna be awkward to say the least."

"I really couldn't give a shit," Blaziken yawned. "Don't mean to be blunt, but I'm tired. Let's put a pin in this for later, okay?"

"Don't even bother pretending we'll start talking about this again," Dusknoir told her. "Eight hours, and I'll wake you up. Sound good?"

"Sure." Blaziken turned over in bed and put her face against the wall. Her eyes pulled over their covers, and quickly thereafter she fell into a light sleep. The mouth along Dusknoir's stomach formed a soft smile. He reached out for the doorknob and gently pulled it closed. The mechanism _clicked_ into place, and carefully the ghost drifted back, as if he were tiptoeing away as to not rouse a child from their dreams. His yellow lips outlining the mouth on his belly parted slightly, releasing a tender whisper into the night winds.

"Sleep well, Leora," he wished to her. One… Two… Three… Four… No answer. Relieved, the wraith folded his large arms behind his back and turned around. The dim glow of his detached red eye, loosely rolling around in the vacant socket, aimed to the millions of stars in the sky. In the emptiness around him, he began to hum to himself, as his right hand reflexively squeezed and released, squeezed and released, an object that was not there. Regardless, he still felt the resistance with each motion, as if he were cutting through tough dried meat, and he felt thrashing and squirming against his hand. Dusknoir hummed louder.


	18. Chapter 18: Espeonage

Weavile burst into the Knowall library, kicking the door open hard enough to slam it into the wall. She stomped in and grabbed a book from one of the shelves. "Hey, you piece of shit! Get out here!" she roared, throwing the book at the spiral staircase in the center of the room. As it approached the stairs, it froze in its place in the air. For but a moment, all was silent, save for the heaving of Weavile's breathing, and the noise filtering in from the streets.

"This _is_ a library, you know," Espeon sighed as he stepped down the spiral staircase into the main room and moved the book back to its shelf. "The general rule is to be quiet."

"Listen here, you jackass. I have the right to be loud!" Weavile snarled.

"Oh? And why might that be?" Espeon asked. With a sense of what was to come, the doors quietly drifted shut.

Weavile growled like a wild beast, brandishing her fangs. "You snitched on me and got Breloom killed."

"Breloom was killed?" Espeon's ear twitched, but his expression remained apathetic.

"Don't you fucking play dumb with me," Weavile warned him. "Breloom was handed over to that Ghost-type bastard. Of course he'd be killed!"

"Listen, it's hardly my fault that you failed your mission, and it definitely isn't my business what Kuroba does with his victims," Espeon explained coolly. "You should have expected this to happen, really, with such a poorly thought-out plan."

Weavile was trembling with anger. She glanced around, making sure no one else was in the library, before responding, "If you knew my plan all along, why didn't you kill me?"

"Because there's more reason for me to keep you alive than to kill you," Espeon responded as he went over to the book return box.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Weavile asked as she watched him lift the books out with Psychic.

"Exactly what it sounds like," Espeon replied as he trotted over to the shelves to organize them, "there's more use for you alive than there is dead."

"So you're just using me for your personal benefit?!" Weavile exclaimed.

"What else would I be using you for?" Espeon turned to look at her with a mix of surprise and amusement in his eyes, "Wait, don't tell me you thought we were _friends_?"

"Of course not! Who would ever want to be friends with a dick like you?!" Weavile screamed.

"Well, that's good. If you know that much, then leave." Espeon waved his tail around as he placed books on the shelves.

"And what are you going to do?" Weavile asked.

"What do you mean?" Espeon responded.

"You know that I'm plotting against Persian now, right?" Weavile clarified. "Are you going to inform Persian of my treason?"

"I don't see why I would." Espeon responded nonchalantly, "Would there be any benefit for me?"

"He's your friend, isn't he?" Weavile questioned.

Espeon laughed, "Where did you hear that? I've never referred to Persian as a friend." The Psychic-type finished restocking the books and placed the box back in its usual position, "Listen. I don't have any particular loyalty to Persian. I report to him because that's my job. If you want to take over his position, I don't have any plans to stop you."

Weavile paused to think about this. There was nothing to insure that Espeon's words were true. "Well then," she began cautiously, "Would you be in _favor_ of me replacing Persian?"

"I don't care either way." Espeon answered. "Tell you what: I'm going to continue my job and report to Persian as usual, but since you might become my new boss in the near future, I'll help you out a bit here and there, too," he offered.

"Really? What would you gain from that?" Weavile asked warily.

"It'd make you leave faster. I have shit to do." Espeon retorted.

"Fine. But don't think I've forgiven you!" Weavile spat as she turned and strode out of the library.

…

In the dark center of Carrion Woods, Kuroba was humming a light-hearted song as he wiped the blood off the walls.

"Hey, Kuroba," a voice called from behind.

Kuroba jumped slightly, then grinned at the Espeon that had appeared in the center of the room, his tail wrapped under his waist. "You startled me," the Ghost-type stated.

"Do you remember the Breloom I sent you a while ago?" Espeon asked.

"Sure, what of it?" Kuroba responded.

"What did you do with him?" The Psychic-type pressed.

"Killed 'im." Kuroba answered matter-of-factly.

Espeon sighed, "I figured as much. Didn't I tell you _not_ to kill him?"

"I couldn't help it. He bit his tongue off. 'Sides, what does it matter if a traitor is killed?"

"No matter who I talk to, it's all the same…" Espeon muttered. "Whatever. What's done is done, I guess. But please, at least _try_ to follow instructions next time."

"I don't have to listen to you. He wasn't anyone important, right? What with the direction his life was going, he'd have died within a few years, anyway." Kuroba cackled.

"And that makes it okay? Yeah, sure. If you value your job, you'll do as you're told," Espeon threatened.

"Hah! Whatever. If that's all you came here for, then get out. You're stinking up my room," Kuroba waved his arm at Espeon, as if wafting away fumes.

Espeon scrunched up his nose, "It already smells like blood and rotting flesh. Any smell I bring in would be an improvement." He then sat down, "But there _is_ something else I came to tell you."

"Oh?" Kuroba grinned at him.

"From the information floating around, I feel like things are about to start heating up. You'd better watch yourself, because I might not be able to."

"So things are going to get fun, huh? I can't wait," Kuroba gave a foreboding cackle.

"Listen, don't forget the reason we're here," Espeon sighed.

"Yeah, yeah," Kuroba dismissed him.

"I'll continue checking in, then. Be sure not to arouse suspicion," Espeon turned, and with a flash of light, he was gone.

…

At the old mansion on Skyspear Mountain, Arcanine stood in front of the master bedroom doors, trying not to listen to the noises coming from inside.

"Harder, _harder!_ " a female voice demanded. The old king-sized bed made sure to leave nothing to the imagination.

Espeon appeared before the Fire-type standing guard. "Hey, can you get Persian?" He requested.

"He's busy right now," Arcanine responded.

"Yes, I can hear that," Espeon tipped his head as the female let out a blissful moan. "Tell him it's important, or I'll go in there, myself."

Arcanine hesitated for a moment, then stood up and nudged the door open with his nose. "Persian, Espeon wants you. He says it's important."

There was a pause, then a soft sigh before Persian's reply came, "Fine. Give me a moment."

Espeon waited as Persian fixed himself up. "Leave the Poké on the nightstand and get out," Persian told the female.

"O-okay…" She sounded disappointed as she exited the room, revealing herself to be a petite Illumise, wrapped in a white cover. She hurried past Espeon with a curt nod.

"Alright, come in," Persian ordered. Espeon stood up and entered the room.

Inside, the Classy Cat was laying in the bed with the blanket covering his lower body. Espeon sat a few feet away from the bed, his tail tapping the floor like a cat.

"Most Pokemon do that sort of thing at night, y'know," Espeon commented.

"Whatever. I have work at night," Persian retorted. "What did you come here for?"

"I figured I should tell you that Weavile of the Renaissance division is planning to overthrow you," Espeon stated.

"Why is it that every time you say you have something important, it's never actually important…?" Persian sighed.

"So you already knew, I presume?"

"Of course I knew. That girl can't keep a secret to save her life," Persian scoffed.

"What are you planning to do?" Espeon asked.

" _Should_ I do anything? I mean, you'd get mad if I killed her, right?" Persian put his head down on the bed.

"Since when have you ever cared about other Pokemon's feelings?" Espeon pointed out.

"Well, according to you, she's gonna leave soon anyway, right?" Persian replied. "What's the point in killing her when she'll just leave on her own?"

"That's true…" Espeon agreed.

"I doubt she could take over, anyway. This will be a good chance to test the fortitude of my subordinates." Persian boasted.

"I wouldn't be too sure about that. She seems pretty serious about taking over. Plus, she's got Joker with her, and we both know how charismatic _he_ is," Espeon pointed out.

Persian laughed, "We'll see. Plus, if she manages to actually defeat me, then good on her. I'll let her have some fun, see what it's like in my paws for a while, then she'll go home and I'll kill all the traitors."

"And if she kills you in the process of defeating you?" Espeon asked.

"Then I can't really do _anything_ , now can I?" Persian rolled his eyes. "But let's try to stay realistic, shall we?"

"If you say so," Espeon shrugged and stood up, "but I'd watch that ego if I were you."

"I don't need your advice on how to live my life. Last time I checked, I'm older than you." Persian scoffed.

"Really? Then isn't it time you started acting like it?" Espeon retorted.

"Get outta here already," Persian waved a paw at Espeon.

"Yes, sir," Espeon replied mockingly as he disappeared.

…

In the desert capital of Sandset City, a large castle-like structure towered over the buildings it was centered around. The gray brick stood out against the sandstone of the rest of the city, highlighting it even further against the sky. On the large central tower was a giant stained-glass window depicting an elegant Leavanny. The red flag posted at the top fluttered in the breeze, flaunting the green symbol of two thin leaves crossed over each other, a circle cut out of both of them.

Espeon appeared before the building for a brief moment to take a look at it from the outside, before Teleporting straight to the highest room behind the stained-glass window. Inside, he was faced with a room of the same elegance as the exterior, with red carpets and a beautifully spotless wooden desk. Espeon looked around at all the pictures on the wall. A Leavanny smiling with a Petilil and a Sewaddle on his lap; the stern portrait of the same Leavanny standing beside a Mightyena; a Scolipede standing between the Leavanny and the Mightyena, both noticeably younger.

"Reminiscing?" a voice asked from the doorway. Espeon turned to see a Leavanny leaning against the door frame. He was similar to the one in the pictures, but not the same.

"Hardly. I was just looking at how dusty your room is," Espeon scoffed. "You've really let this place go."

"Say what you want, but I'll do what I please. This is _my_ Guild, after all," the Leavanny responded with pursed lips.

"I noticed," Espeon retorted.

"Of course, if you want to join, then I'll be sure to take your opinion into careful consideration," Leavanny prompted.

"Nice try, but my answer is the same as it's always been. I've already had my fun in a Guild," Espeon sat down. "I just came to see how you're faring."

"How considerate," Leavanny left the doorway and strutted towards the Psychic-type, "but for some reason, I can't bring myself to believe you."

"That's quite rude, don't you think? It isn't strange that I would be worried about my Guildmaster's son." Espeon hummed.

"Did you come to ask about my stance on the war?" Leavanny guessed.

"Among other things." Espeon admitted after a short pause.

"Well, since you're _dying_ to know, I've made sure to remain neutral towards the conflict in Implentur." Leavanny explained.

"I suppose that's good, then." Espeon smirked. "Wouldn't want _your_ kids to also get their asses beat out there."

"Also?" Leavanny echoed.

"But I actually came here to ask about how much information you've been able to gather about that secret crime organization." Espeon stated.

"Wait, what do you mean 'also'?" Leavanny pressed.

"'Also,' what?" Espeon tipped his head.

"You said my kids would _also_ get their asses beat." Leavanny elaborated.

"Oh…" A brief pause. "Well, don't worry about it. Just a slip of the tongue," Espeon waved his paw. "Anyway, about the criminals…"

Leavanny thought about pressing further, then sighed. "You mean the one run by that Persian?" He moved over to his desk and ran his leafy blade along its wooden face. "Unfortunately, he's as elusive as ever. I know his hideout is on the west side of Sawtooth, but since that's Gallade's territory, my searches there are rather limited."

"I see. Unfortunately, I also wasn't able to gather much information about him. I assume you already know this, but he has connections in just about every location on the continent, each one highly trained in concealing evidence and hiding identities," Espeon informed. "It would be wise to assume there's a criminal hideout in every major town, but trying to find it will only bring unwanted attention, and probably won't yield any results."

"I see… I'll have to be careful, then," Leavanny concluded.

"Oh, also, keep an eye open over the next few weeks. I feel like from what I've been able to observe, turmoil is brewing within the organization. Pretty soon, the tension might build high enough for something to pop, and it'd be best for either you or Gallade to be on the scene when it happens," Espeon advised.

"I'll keep a look out, then. But you're quite incredible to be able to pick up on that from such a secretive enemy," Leavanny praised.

"Please. I wasn't the best tactician in the guild because of my type," Espeon retorted as he stood up. "Things will probably get pretty busy for me from now on, so I won't be able to come visit for a long while."

"As if you come and visit, anyway." Leavanny scoffed. "I'd be lucky to see you again after a full six months. And you're always suspiciously absent when I come to visit you at your library."

"Well, then you understand how rough my workload will be when I'm even busier." Espeon smiled as he sauntered to the door. "I probably won't be able to drop by for another year or two, so I'll tell you this now: Good luck tracking down that Persian, but don't deeper than you can handle. This isn't someone you can catch overnight, so don't be hasty, or you'll be looking at quite the large casualty count. I'm saying this not as an advisor or an information broker, but as a friend of your family. I really don't want to see your head roll." He gave a soft smile as he stood in the doorway, then he left just as suddenly as he arrived.


	19. Chapter 19: Peccant Parade

In Treasure Town, an air of excitement was wafting through the common Pokemon. Everyone had one thing on their minds: the circus performance. The big tent that was set up at the north side of the town was just as attractive as the parade of performers marching from the south side towards it.

Joker waved to the crowd and twirled a baton on a giant float painted with various colors and adorned with glamorous ribbons. On either side of the float were the performers: stilt walkers, jugglers, acrobats, and clowns. Confetti and streamers rained down from the sky, gathering around the parading Pokemon and resting on the cobblestone road for a moment, before disappearing. Onlookers clapped and cheered as the float passed by, then gratefully took flyers to the show and discount coupons from the Pokemon walking behind the paraders.

As the parade ran through the center of the town, a young Guild member walked with his client along a minor road, acting as a bodyguard for the paranoid Carbink.

"We should hurry before they find us," panted the Carbink. He moved briskly, but his Combusken guard wasn't as keen on hustling.

"Listen, I hate to see you waste your Poké just for me to follow you around all day," Combusken told him.

"I'd rather lose my money than my life. I'm sure they'll come to silence me soon," Carbink muttered in a paranoid tone.

"As I said before, unless you tell me who _they_ are, I can't really help you," Combusken sighed. "But with the parade going on. I doubt they'll do anything right now." Carbink turned around to look at Combusken, preparing an argument, but then his eyes went wide as he looked up at something behind the chicken.

Before Carbink could utter a warning, his small body was pierced through with an Iron Thorn. Combusken jumped to alert and twirled around to see an avian figure atop a nearby building, silhouetted by the rising sun.

"Catch… Him!" Carbink coughed as he lay against a wall.

"Don't strain yourself." Combusken moved to the Fairy's side.

"Hurry, you have to… apprehend him," Carbink wheezed, "before he gets away…"

Combusken hesitated for a moment, then turned and charged towards the building. He pushed off the wall and jumped onto the roof just as a flash of white disappeared off the other side. Combusken ran across the stone tiling, then jumped down and chased after the assassin. The mysterious Pokemon weaved through the back alleys, and Combusken following behind.

"Wait!" Combusken screamed, but the Pokemon continued on. The Fire-type pushed through the crowds in pursuit towards the main road, but as he reached the front lines, he was faced with the parade.

Cheers echoed from all around him as Combusken scanned the area. None of the onlookers were suspicious. The guild member desperately looked to the parade performers for clues. A Walrein was bouncing a flaming ball on his nose. A Girafarig passed over him on stilts.

Combusken swept his eyes over the parade float, until he spotted a Swanna sitting on the back of it. _That's the one!_ He thought and pushed his way towards the float. Combusken tried to get close, but the performers seemed to be blocking his path. Before he could get past them the Swanna disappeared from his sight.

Combusken struggled for a bit more, searching for where the bird might have gone, until he was forced to give up, standing alone in the wake of the paraders, bits of confetti disappearing around him like magic.

…

The next day on the circus grounds, Buneary and Bunnelby stood at the entrance to the large multicolored tent, greeting visitors as they passed. The tent was at the very center of the festival, and over the entrance hung the circus' banner, with the words "Joker's Traveling Circus," scrawled across it in big, stylized letters.

As the two Pokémon stood before the entrance, visitors would wander over, curious as to what was inside. "Sorry, the show's not startin' jes yet," Buneary told the Pokemon that approached. "Enjoy our side shows and stands fer a while longer!"

"Guard duty is so boring…" Bunnelby sighed.

"Well, once our shift's over, we kin go have some fun," Buneary responded. The two of them looked over as three small Pokemon approached the large tent. A Roselia and a Charmander walked beside one another with a rather dutiful, but still relatively cheerful expression, while a Riolu adorned in an unworldly red scarf sulked behind them. "Sorry, we're not ready to start the show yet!" Buneary smiled at them.

"I'm aware," replied the Roselia. She reached to her side where her bag was resting and presented it to the two rabbits. There gleamed an unmistakable emblem of a brilliant shield in front of a pair of angelic wings: the symbol for Gallade's Guild. "We've been sent on the request of Combusken to investigate."

"Investigate?" Bunnelby repeated. "What are you investigating?"

"A Swanna had been reported attacking a Carbink within city limits," the Charmander added. "And what's more, when chasing this Swanna down, the witness had seen them standing on the parade float."

The two rabbits exchanged a wide-eyed glance, then looked back at the Guild Pokemon. "That seems rather serious," Bunnelby commented. "I'm not sure if Joker would appreciate you running around on your own right now, though. Things are getting really busy in preparation for the show."

"With all due respect," said the Roselia, cocking her head to the side and feigning a smile, "the law doesn't care if he would appreciate it or not."

"Well, I guess not…" Bunnelby glanced into the tent, "But we should probably see what he thinks, anyway. Buneary, could you…?"

"What? Why d' Ah gotta ask 'im?" Buneary protested.

"Because I'm sure as hell not gonna bother him so close to the show time," Bunnelby responded.

Buneary grumbled something under her breath, then moved to enter the tent, "Fine. Butcha owe me one."

The Riolu stopped a few feet behind the other two and raised his grimace up to the circus tent. The makeshift roads, outlined by food stands and merchandise stalls, were bustling with performers and visitors. The vibrantly colored tents clashed against the cool blue sky in a gaudy fashion that suited the overall tongue-and-cheek feel of Joker's troupe. "The circus," Riley muttered. "Of all the places I could go, I'm playing detective at an expensive light show."

"For the love of…" Rose shook her head. "And here I thought that you'd hold to your word and stop complaining."

"Whose fault do you think it is that we're out here?" Pyro countered.

"Yeah yeah," Riley sighed. "I'll behave from now on."

"You better," Pyro threatened. "We might not live through another incident like that."

A moment later, the small Buneary returned. "He said he don't mind, so long's they stay out the way. He wants me t' guide 'em 'round, though, so they don't git lost."

"We appreciate it," Rose replied. Riley just gave a casual shrug.

"Right, then. Ah s'pose ya wanna start in th' back where the performers gather 'n' such. Follow me an' Ah'll show ya," Buneary began moving towards a dark red tent set up slightly behind the main one.

She threw open the entrance flap and gestured inside, "This here's the storage room, where all th' equipment fer th' show's kept." Inside the tent, various boxes were placed randomly, with items such as bowling pins and hula hoops scattered around them. "As ya kin see, no one hangs 'round here often." Buneary released the flap of fabric and turned to resume her tour.

"Over here," she continued as she led the three to a large yellow tent, "is th' practice tent." She held the entrance open for her guests to enter. Inside, many Pokemon were performing various tricks. A Pachirisu was spinning plates on a stick, a Petilil was spinning and twirling ribbon, and a Herdier was trying to balance on a large inflatable ball. "But as ya kin see," Buneary observed, "there ain't no Swannas here."

She continued to a cluster of smaller gray tents, "These're th' performers' sleepin' quarters. Alla their belongin's're kept here." On each tent, a fabric banner was hung over the entrance, each with its own unique symbol, most likely to label whose tent it was.

"Hmm…" The Charmander swept his gaze across them all before returning to the other two Guildmembers. "Do you… mind if I check this out?"

"Sure," Buneary looked around, then called out to a passing performer, "Dragonair!" The thin Dragon-type turned her head towards the group, then made her way over. "These three're with th' Guild on a special 'vestigation. Could ya guide this one through the sleepin' tents so he kin search 'round while Ah continue on with th' other two?" Buneary gestured to the Charmander.

Dragonair looked down her nose at the Fire-type, then sniffed disdainfully, "Fine. Come on."

Buneary continued on with the remaining two Pokemon, "Over here's the stockroom," she gestured to a large green tent, "where all th' merchandise is kept." She held the entrance open to reveal a room full of boxes, each one filled with plushies, posters, clothes, and trinkets. There were two Pokemon organizing the boxes, but neither of them appeared that suspicious.

Buneary then led the two to a large orange tent with a skylight on top. "This here's the cafeteria," the entrance flaps were already clipped up, and inside were many Pokemon sitting around tables and chattering amongst themselves. "In here, Pokemon kin talk with some a' the performers that're off duty, so it's a very popular hang out."

"What's over there?" Riley nodded towards an opening on the opposite side of the cafeteria tent.

"Oh, that's jest the kitchen. No one but th' chef 'n' Jokah're allowed in there," Buneary dismissed.

"The _kitchen_ ," Riley repeated quizaciously. "We can't leave any stone unturned, can we?" His gaze met with the Roselia's, who merely rolled her eyes. "I'll give that a quick look, if that's okay."

"Go fer it, Ah guess. Ah'll continue with th' tour withoutcha. Ah trust ya can find yer way." Buneary turned and walked away.

"Normally I wouldn't leave you alone," said the Roselia as patronizingly as she could manage, "but I'll trust you this time to manage without a chaperone. Remember, if you get lost, just go find an adult and they'll take good care of you." She feigned another smile and followed the Normal-type.

"You…!" Riley growled and shook his head. _Investigation_ , he thought. _That's all I need to do, right?_ He looked around the cafeteria at some few hundred Pokemon eating amongst each other. The room was filled with an amalgamation of their chatter and laughter. Each one existed in a different state of flare and style, too. Some of them looked like they just walked off the stage with the spotlight still on them, while others, presumably backstage workers, were veiled in a week's worth of filth.

As the Riolu walked through the cafeteria, further and further into the mob of circus members, he started sensing eyes on his back. They were quick but definitely noticeable, like a thousand momentary pin pricks on his sixth sense. Instinctively he clenched a fist and flipped his bag around, pressing the emblem against his hip. But what bothered more was that no one did anything. Some fifty _who's this stranger?_ glares aimed directly at him, but no one so much as moved towards him. Even as he passed others in the aisles between the tables, they all gave him room. After an uneventful minute, he stood in front of the flap separating the cafeteria from the kitchen. A few curious glares met him there, gathering more by each second. Riley took a deep breath and swiftly swooped into the next room.

Inside, there were various portable kitchen appliances: a small stove, a makeshift sink, and foldable counters. Riley's attention immediately fell upon the center table, where a Swanna was laying dead. The White Bird Pokemon sat with its head removed and it's feathers partly plucked. Riley slowed down for a moment. He tilted his head and curiously approached the bird. All he could manage to do, looking over the body of the Pokemon, was think _Found them_ somewhat tonelessly.

"That's funny, I was sure this area was closed off to guests," a voice hummed from behind him. Riley whirled around to see a Floatzel with a red tear under one eye and a blue star under the other: the same marks of the Floatzel from the caravan. The very one that nearly hurled him off onto the roadside, and beat the hell out of everyone else.

"You…!" Riley bared his fangs and bored his eyes at the Water-type.

"Oh, have we met?" Joker tipped his head in confusion.

"Don't feed me that!" Riley bristled. "Remember five days ago? On the caravan?"

"Oh, I remember that! Wow, how nice to see you again!" Joker laughed playfully.

"Don't talk like none of that happened. And just how do you explain this?" Riley gestured to the body of the Swanna.

"That? It's tonight's dinner. We have a tradition of having a freshly cooked feast after big shows, and what with such a large troupe, we need at least a whole bird." Joker explained, "Come to think of it, aren't you looking for a Swanna?" His voice seemed to contain a hidden arrogance, as though he were taunting Riley.

The young Fighting-type stepped forward and cracked his knuckles. "We are, but something else caught my eye. I'm settling this. _Now_." He lurched forward with a Quick Attack, and Joker charged forward to meet him in an Aqua Jet. Riley quickly pushed off the ground to jump out of the way, and Joker skidded to a halt on the other side of the kitchen.

"You're pretty quick aren't you?" the Water-type commented.

With a frustrated growl, Riley jumped up and dropped a High Jump Kick towards Joker, who countered it with a Water Gun. Riley pierced through the harsh spray of water and delivered his blow on his enemy's shoulder. Grunting, Joker leapt back and shot a Swift.

Riley ran and slid under the table, deflecting a few of the stars, but he was hit with most of the onslaught. Pushing through the pain, he built up a Force Palm and jumped up, slamming it into Joker's stomach. As Joker took the force of Riley's attack, he formed Ice Fang, digging his frozen teeth into the jackal's shoulder. Before Riley could retaliate, he was shot clear across the room by Joker's Water Gun. The force of the current sent the jackal straight into a cart that held stacks of plates. Riley stood back up as the piles of ceramic crashed around his feet.

"Well, we've thrown some punches and broke a good amount of plates. I think that's a good place to stop, yeah?" Joker suggested. Riley brandished his fangs and plunged in yet again with his Quick Attack. Joker sighed and sent another Swift towards his opponent. Riley rolled behind a counter and grabbed a pot that was stored underneath it. Using the pot as a makeshift shield, the Fighting-type continued toward Joker.

As Riley got close, Joker shot a Water Gun at him. The Guild Pokemon quickly sidestepped and went in for a Force Palm, but Joker turned and transitioned to Ice Fang, grabbing Riley's outstretched wrist in his teeth.

The young Fighting-type tried to pull away in surprise, but Joker's teeth were locked into place. Panic filled Riley's mind for a split second as the ice crept up his arm and chilled his blood, but he quickly snapped back and decided to switch to attack, kicking a Counter into Joker's stomach. The Floatzel released Riley's arm and coughed as he staggered backwards, putting a paw over the area of impact. He gave a pained expression for a moment, then switched to a vengeful glare as he shot forward with Aqua Jet.

Riley prepared to dodge, but found Joker's attack flew past him anyway. Joker turned his jet mid flight and began circling Riley. His circles were tight enough that the water streaming behind him created a full ring around the Fighting-type. Joker then went up and dropped his Aqua Jet directly on the bewildered Riley, for an unavoidable head-on attack.

The Riolu stood back up after being knocked down by Joker's attack, his fur soaked through. Joker stood a few feet away as he shook away the daze. Riley jumped forward yet again, and Joker met him with another Aqua Jet. The Fighting-type tensed his muscles to sidestep the torpedo, but as soon as Joker got close, the watery jet burst open and the weasel slid to a stop directly in front of the startled jackal. With one fluid motion, Joker called forth a Swift, and Riley found himself unable to react fast enough.

Riley, faced with a full Swift from nearly point-blank range, was forced to take the attack straight on. The sharp points of each star sliced through his fur as he could only protect his vitals with his arms. He jumped back a few times, reeling from the pain of the dozen skin-deep cuts. The versatility of his opponent's motions had him beaten. Misleading the audience with one grand motion, whilst they're creeping up with another; such is the way of the Floatzel's lightshow. Joker was far more experienced in battle, and the only way Riley could fight that would be, simply, to learn and adapt.

The jackal took an Iron Thorn from his bag and gripped it in his paw. Then he jumped up and dropped down with a High Jump Kick, and Joker tensed in preparation to side step, an Ice Fang building in his mouth. But in midair, Riley stopped his attack and landed on his paws, then shot forward with Quick Attack and slashed Joker with the twisted scrap of metal.

The surprised Joker quickly distanced himself with Aqua Jet, landing on the other side of the kitchen. He put a paw on his chest, where a faint line of blood began to form. The Water-type looked from his fresh wound to his assailant with an almost childlike smile. "Did you always know how to transition, or did you learn that just now?" he asked with slight awe.

Riley took a fresh breath and went in again, a Force Palm in one paw and an Iron Thorn in the other. Joker shot a Water Gun at the approaching Riley, but Riley sliced through the torrent of water with his Thorn. However, the water suddenly stopped and was quickly replaced with Swift.

The Riolu jumped back, trying to block the stars with his Thorn. For every star that ricocheted off Riley's weapon, another one ripped through his skin. As he was busy deflecting, Joker charged down on him from above with Aqua Jet. The frantic Riley tried parrying with his Force Palm, but was knocked down to the ground.

Joker stood panting as he watched Riley slowly stand back up. Both were fairly wounded, but Riley was certainly feeling the pain building up. "You don't give up, do you?" Joker chuckled. "I don't want to hurt you _too_ badly."

"Yeah? Well I do," Riley grinned. He took a step forward, wincing as his paw touched the ground.

"Step down," ordered a voice from behind. The jackal turned around to see, just ahead of the flap, the Charmander. The blue flames of a Dragon Rage flickered out of the corner of his maw.

"What're you doing here?" Riley barked.

"Looking for that." The Fire-type pointed to the body of the Swanna, but his burning blue eyes stared straight ahead to the Floatzel. "But look who I found instead."

"Hey, now. Two on one isn't exactly fair, is it?" Joker laughed, a hint of nervousness in his voice.

Pyro roared and opened his mouth, launching the ball of fire towards the Floatzel.

"W-wait- aah!" Joker quickly jumped out of the way, and the blue flames continued to the tent wall. Fabric ignited and the fire began to consume the walls. Joker jumped back and stared at the crackling heat with his eyes wide.

"Whoops..." Pyro mumbled.

"Quit gawking and put it out!" Riley barked to the Floatzel. "You're a Water-type, now act like it!"

"I, uhh…" Joker's breathing became more shallow as he looked towards the two. His eyes had lost all playfulness or hostility, and now held only pure fear.

As Riley was left puzzled over this unexpected reaction, the fire continued eating up the fabric walls. The two Guild Pokemon looked at each other, the same question reflected on their faces: _what should we do?_

"I'll… get help," Pyro decided, and he turned and ran out into the cafeteria.

Riley moved towards Joker warily. "Hey... can't you do anything?" he asked.

Joker was gasping for air and staring wide-eyed at the flames as he bent down into a squatting position. As Riley put a curious paw on Joker's shoulder, he could feel the Water-type shaking.

Suddenly, performers burst in through the entrance. "Fire!" they shouted. Water-types began dousing the flames, while a Furret pushed Riley out of the way and threw a blanket over Joker's shoulders. His eyes were wide and unfocused and he was visibly trembling. The Furret was slowly nudging him towards the entrance. "Joker, can you hear me?" He asked repeatedly, but Joker was unresponsive.

"Jesus," Riley muttered.

"Rose is gonna kill me," Pyro groaned as he came to stand beside Riley, gawking at the gaping singed hole.

"If the performers don't get to us first," Riley replied. "We should probably go find her and get out of here."

A Dewott came over to the two. "It's not safe here, please evacuate outside," he told them as he ushered them out of the kitchen. "Don't worry," he assured them, "we have everything under control."

…

After the fire had been extinguished, rumors and stories spread through the performers just as fast as the flames had eaten up the kitchen tent. With the ringmaster injured in the fight, the performers had halted everything to make sure he was okay.

Dragonair slipped into the gray tent marked with a top hat, to see Joker sitting huddled up into a ball, his eyes half open as he stared off into space, with Furret wrapped comfortingly around him. The weasel was exponentially calmer than he was before, but he was still trembling slightly, with his fur standing on end.

"How's he doing?" Dragonair whispered.

"He's calmed down a lot." Furret responded. "He should be fully recovered before the show time."

"That's a relief… I'll tell the others." Dragonair moved out and stood in the entrance, looking over the small crowd of performers that gathered worriedly around their ringmaster's tent. As soon as Dragonair emerged, she was barraged by questions.

"How is he?"

"Will he recover in time for the show?"

"Is he hurt?"

"Are we gonna cancel?"

Dragonair lifted her tail to signal silence, then waited for the murmuring to die down before speaking, "Joker was injured in his fight with the guild kid, but was untouched by the flames. Furret says he should recover in time for the show."

The performers breathed a collective sigh. Dragonair continued, "While he is recovering, I shall take over as stand-in ringmaster. We should all continue preparing for the show, business as usual. I want the performers on street-duty back out to entertain the visitors and assure them that everything is taken care of," she ordered.

The performers murmured amongst themselves as they dispersed to their individual tasks. Dragonair poked her head back into the tent for a last look at Joker. He was staring towards the ground with his eyes glazed over.

"Don't let anyone enter here," Dragonair told Furret.

"Roger," Furret nodded.

…

"Is this true?" asked Gallade, perched behind his desk. His office was dyed a soft, delectable orange from the sunset outside. Folded hands covered his mouth as he stared straight ahead with a stern expression.

"It is," Pyro nodded. "The Floatzel we saw at the circus was the very same one that attacked our caravan five days prior."

"We would have reported this earlier," Rose added, "but none of us were sure if we could trust our memories since we had been injured."

"This is… upsetting, to say the least," Gallade admitted. He leaned back in his chair and rested his legs on his desk. "What of the Swanna? Did you find any trace of them?"

"I did find _a_ Swanna," Riley told him. "But it was in the kitchen ready to be cooked. That Joker guy said something about it being dinner."

"Damn," Gallade muttered. "It's probably too late to perform an autopsy on it. We could likely find the bones, but there wouldn't be nearly as much we could find out… Still though… civilized meat…" The Psychic-type shook his head and turned his attention back to the team. "Is there anything else you can tell me?"

"Like what?" Rose asked.

"Well, _anything_. The public might turn to favor the ringmaster if we were to arrest him, so if we could get any more evidence against him it would help control the damage," the Guildmaster explained. "Marks on their 'meal'? Suspicious Pokemon wandering about? Maybe some of the other bandits from the caravan?"

"When they attacked five days ago, Flo- excuse me, Joker came in after the other three. They seemed surprised to see him," Rose said. "I don't believe he works directly with them, but they were definitely friends." Her floral hand traced over where his Ice Fang had ripped into her frail arm.

"I couldn't find anything condemning on my search," Pyro added.

"Nothing I didn't already tell you," Riley shrugged.

Gallade held his chin in his left hand and looked dimly at nothing. "If that's all you have, then you may return to your rooms. Goodnight."

"What, that's it?" Riley scoffed. "We found the bastard. You can't just stop us here."

"Back down, kiddo. This is entering a field you've no business or interest in," Gallade warned. "Unless, you want to learn a whole new system of laws?"

Riley took a step back. No, he didn't. "N… nevermind."

"Dismissed." The Charmander and Roselia bowed to the Guildmaster and left the room. Riley mimicked them and closed the door behind him. Gallade spun around in his chair and faced the orange sky. The cursed patch of barren land just outside looked like it was on fire.

 _What to do…_ the Guildmaster thought. _If I managed to find the wagons and the rest of the scene the attack took place, we could examine it and match them to Joker's claws and fangs. With some witnesses, that'd be condemning enough. But the common folk might take his side regardless._ _And accusing a local idol is enough hot water as it is, but if someone finds out that I stirred the nest up with the desert kingdom, it wouldn't end well. I might have to take further action to keep up the Guild's reputation._

The ethereal claw of Garchomp's right hand rested itself on Gallade's shoulder as the spirit of the old bastard joined him in the twilight. _Having troubles, are you?_ asked the gravely voice of the Dragon-type. _Don't overcomplicate things, child. It's simple what you have to do_. Garchomp chuckled to himself as he always did to his kids, watching them pretend to be grown-ups. Just imagining it made Gallade smile. _The rotten fruit they may throw will wash off, and the insults alongside them only hurt if you believe they're right. If that's all you're afraid of, wash it off and prove them wrong. If I'm not mistaken, this little circus weasel- Joker, you call him- he has quite a few threads, does he not? Perhaps you could pull on a few of them for a little while._

"That doesn't sound too bad," Gallade grinned.

 _Sure, give me the credit_ , Garchomp shrugged. He removed his ethereal claw, and the old bastard stepped away towards the elegantly-patterned doors. _You know where to look if you need my wisdom again_. The memory of the old Dragon-type retreated back into the crevices of Gallade's mind.

"Setting ablaze a part or two of their nests matters not when they never leave the shadows," he said aloud. With a faint smile, he turned around from the sunset and grasped a piece of paper in his left hand. Bold text on top of it clearly read out _**warrant**_ , and below that were a few blank lines lead in by only a few words. Gallade yanked his quill, a glistening blue feather plucked from the backside of an Articuno that to this day held its perpetual shimmer, from the inkwell and neatly wrote down the document's recipient: _Joker, Floatzel_.


	20. Chapter 20: Outworlders

It was rare for the Pokemon of Treasure Town to see Gallade walking alone through the streets in the mid morning. He was his usual self, giving his warm smile and an inviting wave to those that met his eye, and many were inclined to return the same onto him. Nothing about him made them feel that something was amiss, so aside from a few glances no one bothered being worried. No one bothered being unsettled or afraid of what roused the Guildmaster from his office. Rare meant nothing- Gallade has been known to take a walk or two now and then. There hadn't been anything to be suspicious of. No one knew where he was heading or why. Perhaps that was for the better.

His morning stroll took Gallade to the front of the circus, where today a Seviper and an Arbok stood in front of the main entrance to the makeshift path. Behind them, Pokémon were preparing for the upcoming day.

The Pokémon in the stands and booths were counting the money they had made yesterday, as well as how much merchandise they had left, while the performers were maintaining their tools and brushing up on their tricks.

"Morning!" Gallade called to the two snakes. "Sorry to disturb you. I'd like to speak with your ringmaster and clear a few things up."

"You're the Guildmaster…?" Seviper eyed the Psychic-type suspiciously. "Sorry, but Joker's very busy with preparations, and isn't allowing visitors at the moment," he sneered.

"I don't suppose he's willing to make an exception?" Gallade asked, already aware of what the answer would be. Arbok sternly shook his head. "Yeah, I had a feeling. It's your job to make sure no one sneaks through. I can respect that." He took a short breath. "I also know that some of my kids caused some damages yesterday during an investigation, and as the Guildmaster it's my responsibility to clean up when they make a mess. Please, you'll insult me if you refuse my hospitality. At least let me come and break bread with your ringmaster."

"Like I said, he's busy," Seviper hissed.

"Are you being mean to the Guildmaster?" A voice came from behind the serpents. They turned around to see the Floatzel with painted fur, a blanket wrapped around his shoulders and a slightly weary look in his eyes. "Lying is mean, you know?" He gave a friendly smile as he approached.

"It isn't a lie. We don't allow visitors during setup," Arbok defended.

"You should know that Guildmasters are an exception. This is _his_ town; he can go where he likes," Joker scolded, then looked up at the Psychic-type. "Now, to what do I owe this visit?"

"I understand that there was a scuffle the other day, and during that my kids caused some damage to your property," Gallade explained. "First of all I'd like to cover the cost, and then spend a few minutes talking about what happened. Just to clear the air."

"You think we need you to cover the cost?" Seviper scoffed.

"You're not the first ones to pick a fight. We can pay for our own equipment," Arbok added. Hostile murmurs of agreement came from the performers that had stopped to see what was going on.

"Anything you have to say to Joker can be said in front of us!" a Dewott joined in from a few feet away. The side chatter grew a bit louder and more forceful.

Joker's friendly smile quickly dropped as he shouted, "Enough!" All at once, the conversations stopped and all eyes were on the Floatzel. "Gallade is my guest, and you shall treat him as such. Have any of you been a Guildmaster before? Do you know exactly how much work it takes to run an organization of that size? Yet Gallade has taken time out of his busy schedule to pay us a visit himself, and you throw stones at him? He's even kind enough to offer to pay for the damage done by his subordinates, yet you have the _gall_ to refuse him so rudely? I didn't think that was the way we ran things here." The weasel swept his steely stare across the grounds, meeting the gaze of each and every performer present. The Pokemon dropped their gazes to the ground, some remorseful, but others spiteful. "I believe everyone here has something they should be doing, hm? We're under the clock here - get to it!" The performers sulkily returned to their tasks. Joker then returned to his usual smile as he looked back at Gallade. "I'm terribly sorry you had to see that. Tension can get rather high during setup; everything has to be perfect, after all."

"Not at all," Gallade returned a friendly smile.

"I'll accept your compensation gratefully for the damaged tent, although it really isn't that big of a deal. Now, about that private talk…" Joker turned and trotted down through the makeshift path, gesturing with his twin tails for the Psychic-type to follow him. Gallade allowed the ringmaster to lead him through the aisles of food stalls to the performers' personal tents. Joker entered the largest of the tents, placed in the very back, with a picture of a top hat painted onto it. "This is my personal tent. No one would be back here for any reason, so feel free to speak as loudly as needed."

"What a cozy place you've got here," Gallade observed. The tent was large enough to comfortably fit four Pokémon of Gallade's size. The inside was fairly empty, with only a bed of hay and feather, a colorful toy box sitting off to the side, and a mirror propped against the wall. "I mean, considering that it's supposed to be nomadic. Practical, but still personal."

"I'm honored to hear that," Joker responded.

"Though I must say, the attitude shown by the members of your circus is very disheartening," Gallade stated.

"As I said, tension-"

"Tension? _That_ wasn't tension, Joker. I've seen that attitude many times before. One might think the circus to be an oppressed colony. I haven't wronged your group, have I?" Gallade asked him. "Arbok said that my kids weren't the first to cause a mess, so that couldn't be the reason. If it were, covering the cost should have broken some of the atmosphere."

"I agree. Such behavior is inexcusable, and in no way represents what the circus stands for," Joker apologized. "They aren't normally like this. Promise. Stress brings out this… 'oppressed minority' in them, continuing your metaphor."

"It's concerning to see your group like this, and I'd hope to improve relations in the future, but I don't believe that I can do anything today to fix that," Gallade shrugged. "And besides, I did not come all this way to give your customer service a review. First, the matters of yesterday. During an investigation two of my boys caused some damages whilst looking for a Swanna. One got in a fight with you and traded a few blows. By the way you're carrying yourself, it must've been more than a skirmish."

"The Riolu." Joker put on a much weaker version of the childlike smile he had found himself wearing the other day. "He's an amature, but he's interesting. I don't know what it is, but you have something on your hands with that kid."

"It's nice to hear that. I'll tell Riley what you said, but I'm not sure if he'll be happy about it," Gallade told him. He cleared his throat. "The other, the Charmander, accidentally burned part of your tent. Whether you want a patch or a whole new tent, I can cover the cost of it by tomorrow. We've been saving for a rainy day. Surely we can afford to clean up this little puddle."

"A patch will do just fine. It's just the kitchen tent, and giving it an extra splash of color will be cute," Joker decided.

"Sounds doable," Gallade assured. "Tomorrow the circus will receive its funds. I'm sure you have your own tailor to make your tent, so I'll leave that to you. However, these same kids did act for a reason. I'll cover for the damages, but the report they gave me is enough for investigation. They were looking for a civilized Swanna, but instead they just found a 'wild' Swanna that was being used for dinner. A coincidence like that doesn't come along often. I could _easily_ call for further investigation solely on that."

"Are you accusing us of murder?" Joker asked testily, his smile fading to a stern expression similar to the one he had when he scolded the performers.

"No one's listening, Joker. Don't get defensive on me. I couldn't care less if you shadow-dwellers off each other, got it? If it was anyone else, what you did to Carbink would be repaid tenfold, but I'll spare you just this once. Just stay the hell off my streets," the Guildmaster warned him. The Water-type stood silent across from him, staring into the single red eye of the Psychic-type. It hadn't changed in demeanor, but the words he spoke were so unlike him. For a moment Joker wondered if in fact it had been someone else who said them.

"For now," Gallade continued, "the subject of this Swanna matters not to me. I didn't come all this way just for your domestic affairs." Gallade reached behind him into a neat, leather bag and pulled out a letter sealed with blue wax. In it was a shallow imprint of the Guild's sigil, signifying its origin.

"Ooh, _fancy._ That's never a good sign," Joker smirked. He grabbed the letter from Gallade's hand and peeled the lip back, removing the seal. Joker took hold of the contents inside and unfolded the piece of paper, revealing the bold black text at the top: _**Warrant**_. "Why don't I ever get any fun letters?" he sighed.

"Six days ago, my kids witnessed you and three others robbing a small caravan they were defending," Gallade told him. "Right now we have three witnesses off hand. Contact has been made with the victim, and we have pieces of the scene this took place at to match to your arsenal and your own prints. Simply put, you're being charged with assault and theft. Do you plead guilty, or shall we go to trial?"

"You're quite well prepared, aren't you?" Joker grinned. "That was indeed me. I felt kinda bad for a while afterwards; I bit that Roselia pretty hard."

"That makes things much simpler." Gallade clapped his hands together and pulled out a pen from his bag, accompanied by a sponged ink pad. "Alright. Signature at the bottom, followed by your paw print. Then the date. Read the fine print if you wish."

"Sure thing." Joker did as he said, taking the pen and scribbling down his signature. "What's the punishment gonna be?" He put his paw on the ink pad and left his print to the right of his signature.

"Well… I'll just say it." The Guildmaster cleared his throat. "First, you're being fined. One wagon, one chest, and four hundred and seventy-three Joy Seeds. The latter will be a hefty price. Florges, the victim's boss and owner of the stolen property, said that she will allow you to divide the fine into payments. On top of this, you have to spend ten days in prison."

"Ten days? That's not gonna sit well with the performers…" Joker muttered.

"You've committed a crime. As the law incarnate, I'm obligated to punish you for it," Gallade stated. "I'll leave it to you to tell your friends. It's likely that they'll put the blame on me as a result, and they're free to do so. If they so choose to be wrong, that's their right. But, just in case…" The Psychic-type raised his left hand in front of his face, and a moment later an object darted out of nowhere into his gentle palm. It was a bone, fresh, brittle, and with a few teeth marks on the length of it. The meat had been stripped off of it, but along the end there remained a bit of cartilage where the joint would have been. The Guildmaster looked at it carefully for a second, twisting it around and studying it under his single red eye, and then nodded and tucked it in his bag. "Tomorrow at eight in the morning, your ten days starts. Bright and early. This leaves you the whole rest of the day to plan out your circus for when you leave."

"How very generous of you," Joker smirked grimly.

"Oh, and by the way, I need to remind you." The Guildmaster coughed twice and stared into Joker. "If you don't show up tomorrow, I'll hunt you down myself. Do be prompt."

"As much fun as it sounds to play such an extreme game of tag, you can expect me at your door no later than eight o'clock," Joker smiled, a hint of a challenge in his eyes.

"We'll be waiting." Gallade turned around with his hands tucked behind his back. He whistled a sharp tune as he meandered to the opening, pushing the flap open and letting it flutter behind him. There was a brief flash of light, and the whistling abruptly stopped as the Guildmaster was swept away in a Teleport.

Joker sat on his bed of hay for a moment, thinking over what he was going to do next. With the festival still ongoing, he wasn't sure how the performers would react to this news. With a sigh, he heaved himself up and made his way to the main path.

"Nairy," he called to Dragonair as she was helping to inflate beach balls.

"What did I tell you about calling me that?" Dragonair hissed testily.

"Never mind that. Call everyone together in the main tent. I have news."

"Regarding the Guildmaster?" Dragonair guessed.

"Well… It's a surprise!" Joker winked and gave a goofy grin. He then turned and slowly made his way to the main tent. He made sure to give enough time for Dragonair to spread the message and for everyone to arrive before him.

Inside the giant multicolored tent, every Pokémon in the circus sat in the bleachers, chatting amongst themselves. Curiosity and tension mixed in the air as everyone was waiting impatiently for the ringmaster to explain what had happened.

"Greetings, everyone!" Joker waved as he sauntered through the entrance to the center of the stage. "I'm sure you all have a shit-ton of questions, but I'm here to tell you all that I know!" He paused to let the chatter die down before continuing. "As many of you know, guildmaster Gallie paid us a visit earlier this morning, under the guise of compensation for the damaged tent. However, he actually came to discuss a legal matter." He stopped again and waited for silence as Pokémon began asking question to him and each other. "A little while ago, I helped a good friend of mine rob a caravan. Gallie told me I had to pay the caravan owner back for the damaged property and stolen goods, as well as spend time in jail." An uproar broke out as the performers could no longer sit still.

"Jail time?! Who does he think he is?!" Dragonair scoffed.

"Doesn't he know we have a show to put on?!" Dewott exclaimed.

"It ain't fair! You were jes' helpin' a friend! How come you're th' only one gettin' punished?!" Buneary protested.

"Everyone, settle down!" Joker shouted over the chatter. He waited patiently for the performers to find their seats again. "I appreciate the concern, but you misunderstand. It's only ten days, and the fee isn't anything we can't handle."

"Even so, that'll throw a huge wrench in our schedule," Dragonair pointed out.

"No, I want you all to continue as planned. You'll finish the shows here today and tomorrow, then pack up and leave tomorrow night. I'll catch up to you once I'm out." Joker explained. "I'll have a substitute ringmaster for when I'm gone. Let's see…" he took a sweeping glance across the room, "Dewdrop will do it."

Dewott straightened up in surprise, "M-me?" Murmurs filled the room. "But I'm just a street performer. I think Dragonair would be a better choice." Dragonair looked away, trying not to look displeased with Joker's decision and failing miserably.

"I think you guys have some misconceptions about the ringmaster… my job is not to be a king," Joker explained. "There's no circus hierarchy. While it's true Nairy is a very skilled performer, that's exactly _why_ she isn't the substitute ringmaster. The ringmaster's job is to simply organize the show. I'm not the main event or anything. No one comes here just to see me; they come to see all of you. A ringmaster without his performers couldn't possibly attract a crowd as large as we do. Similarly, Nairy may be a finale performer, but that doesn't make her any more important than anyone else. Without the tech crew, she wouldn't have a spotlight. Without the stall operators, she wouldn't be able to fund her tour. I chose Dewdrop to take my place simply because he is not scheduled to perform in the main show for a while. He can juggle his job as a street performer and mine as the ringmaster with the least amount of difficulty." The performers murmured uncertainly to themselves.

"I suppose that makes sense…" Dewott admitted.

"Great!" Joker clapped his paws together, "We've wasted enough time here. Everyone, back to your tasks! We have two hours before our doors open once again, and this place has to be perfect!" The performers quickly began swarming towards the exits, eager to return to their assignments. "Dewdrop," Joker called to the Water-type, "Follow me and I'll teach you what you need to do in my absence."

…

Most of the Guild had left by the time Joker came in to begin his ten days, but those that had the day off were more than surprised to see him walk up to the Guildmaster. However, it turned even more heads when the two turned down one of the halls and into the dungeon. When Gallade emerged alone he was barraged with questions, but he just answered as everyone expected him to: _All I did was charge another criminal. Don't act so surprised_.

News spread quickly, but Gallade answered to no one. Some dozen townsfolk showed up at the door in less than an hour only to be urged away by the silent but unfaltering Blaziken. Despite the fit everyone had been in, the Guildmaster had not been moved because of how famous the criminal was. He stuck to his duties as he always had.

Roughly an hour and a half after his incarceration, Gallade was in front of the wanted boards, taking down outdated posters and putting up the new ones, as well as returning a few of the posters that had been confidently ripped down only to return attached to someone whose head drooped over the floor. It was just as he finished the wanted board, ready to move on to the job requests, when he overheard the conversation of Kirlia's team in the messhall.

"Who'd have thought that Joker was a criminal," Luxio commented. "How're you taking all this? He's your brother, isn't he?"

"Yeah," Buizel sighed. _Brother…?_ Curious, Gallade quietly began walking towards the archway. "I mean, I know he's changed, but I never thought he'd rob a caravan."

"What do you mean by 'changed?'" Gallade asked them.

"G-Gallade!" Buizel jumped out of his seat, nearly stumbling back and falling on his ass. "Wh-what're you doing here?!"

"How has Joker changed?" Gallade pressed. Buizel shook his head and took a deep breath.

"W-well, it's just as I said. He changed. One day he was… reserved, and caring- a lot like Luxio, actually. The next, he was like someone else. Giddy… adventurous… I remember being somewhat unsettled, but I kinda liked it. But there were times that he had this look on his face I just couldn't understand," Buizel explained. He sat down once again and put his chin on his left paw.

"You don't have to do this," Luxio assured his partner. The Electric-type looked up to Gallade. "Please. None of this really matters to the case, does it?" he pleaded.

"I'll be the judge of that," Gallade answered. "Go on, Buizel."

"He… he left for days at a time." The way Buizel spoke was distant, to no one specifically, as if he was just reminding himself of the past. It was unsettling for Luxio to hear his partner act in such a way. "Said he was looking for someone, but he never said who it was. Over time he became more distant towards me and our mom. He refused to fight. Didn't even spar with me anymore. One day this was flipped on its head. Said he needed to get stronger, and he ran off into the forest. He brought home kids and injured Pokemon that needed to be rescued. Mom didn't have the resources to care for them all, but she didn't want to push away her son. It really got to her. There were nights where she didn't eat so that we would. Maybe he knew this, because he began traveling around with them. Then he formed the circus with them. Started calling himself 'Joker' and stained his fur. I haven't talked to him since. Now poor mom's all alone..." He buried his face in his paws and didn't come out for a while.

"It's okay," Luxio attempted to console, but he lacked the insight to provide anything meaningful. "So?" He bitterly looked up to the Guildmaster. "Was any of that of help?"

"It just might be," Gallade muttered to himself as he mulled over the story he was told. He nodded twice and turned around. "Thanks for the information," he said before leaving the archway.

At the end of the faculty hall there stood a thick steel door with a clear label written on the wall above it: _**Dungeon: Restricted Access**_. Gallade placed his open palm against the cold metal. Mechanisms slid and clicked into place upon his touch, and the heavy handle twisted to the side. Slowly the door swung open on its own, and the Guildmaster shoved it closed behind him as he descended the stairs. The dungeon itself had sixteen cells, but this was a dormant time of year. The only other inhabitant other than Joker was an Ariados, who Gallade struck with a Hypnosis as he passed her by.

Third from the back on the left, the Floatzel laid comfortably across the cement ground, plucking at a guitar string and jotting down notes on a makeshift music sheet. He was humming what one could only assume to be the melody of the song he was in the process of writing, using the guitar string to confirm the pitch.

Standing in front of the prisoner with his arms crossed, Gallade opened his mouth and began to speak in a tongue that wasn't his own, and that was not built for him. Joker knew it well, but how the Guildmaster spoke it was sloppy and brutish, for it was not of this world. He spoke, through what appeared to be an accent, English. " _I know what you are, Outworlder_ ," he boldly claimed.

Joker looked up from his music with shock, then quickly shifted to a giddy grin, "I didn't know Pokémon could even speak that language. I applaud you for being able to learn it; it's quite difficult, even in the other world."

"So I was right," Gallade muttered to himself through his gritted teeth. "And you seem so casual about this. Do you know what I could do with the knowledge I have?"

"You could very well destroy my circus, I'd imagine. No one would come to our show if they knew the ringmaster was an Outworlder." Joker held the guitar string taut between his paws, at half the length of the full string, then plucked it with his fang like a piece of floss.

"I have no interest in your surface business," Gallade told him. "What interests me…" He cleared his throat and began to speak again in the tongue that was not of his world. " _What interests me is that you've managed to worm your way in here, and I didn't even know it._ "

"You say that as though I'm not welcome here," Joker said with a mock hurt expression. "I haven't done any harm to anyone. Well, not any more harm than is normal in such a combat-oriented world."

"That's a lie," Gallade scoffed. "Your 'brother' is upstairs right now. Just a minute ago he had his face in his paws. He was lamenting you, lamenting his _family_ , Joker."

"Buiz is here?" Joker sat up, an excited look on his face. "I haven't seen him in _forever!_ I guess he _did_ say he wanted to join a Guild or something…" His happy grin faded as he looked down at the floor with a sad smirk. "I really did think of him as a little brother, despite everything. He has every right to think bad of me now, I guess."

"I can't say I agree with you there," Gallade stated. "It isn't your fault that you're here now. You have my sympathy, good traveler. _But_ , I am only an acception. Much of the world sees you as an abomination; a bad omen; a threat. As of now, there's nothing I can do about that." Gallade leaned back against the cell opposite Joker's with his arms loosely folded across his chest. "With a testimony from your brother, as well as my own admission of your confession, I could have you suspected of being a human. I would only need a few tests after that to condemn you. Taking your head would make me the good guy. Fact of the matter is, you're _not_ welcome here. By killing you I'd be a hero. Now, isn't that a little…" Gallade went back to speaking in the tongue that was not his. " _Fucked up?_ " he asked the Floatzel.

"Pokemon aren't that different from humans. You fear the unknown, and so you work to get rid of it. While it is true that condemning someone to death simply because of who they are is 'fucked up,' it isn't anything different than what goes on in my world." Joker shrugged. "I'm not sure what you'd accomplish by ratting me out, other than a boost in your already immaculate public image, but I won't protest if you do. I'm a criminal, after all. You, the warden, can do what you please to me. I'm fully prepared to be exposed, and honestly I didn't think it would even take this long for someone to find out."

"Again, I'll have to disagree with you. They don't fear an unknown. I shouldn't expect someone like you to be versed in our history." The Guildmaster cleared his throat and switched his language back to English once again. " _You aren't the equivalent of a 'nigger' or a 'spic' here_. _You don't practice 'black magic' or any other made-up threat_." He took a small breath and returned to his native tongue. "This isn't a purge of the undesirables. Don't misunderstand," he warned him. "As for your second point, I _am_ the warden here as you say. However, killing you isn't what I'm after. Do not think of us as enemies. I can help you, Joker."

"Oh, really? I wasn't aware that I needed help," Joker replied in almost a snide tone.

"Not many of you are," Gallade answered him. "I don't mean 'rehabilitation' when I say help. I couldn't give a single shit what you do. Criminal acts will be punished no matter who you are. Joker… I can say with certainty that you know someone else who is a human. Who are they?"

"As they say, birds of a feather flock together," Joker grinned as he laid back down on his side. "I don't have any intention of telling you about my acquaintances. None of us are in any real danger, so I don't see why you have to know."

Gallade gently placed his hands together, consuming himself in a soft light. In an instant he warped inside the cell and sat across from Joker. "Of course you don't see why I have to know. You have your reasons. Maybe it's just ignorance. Maybe it's a lack of resources. Perhaps, it could be that you're afraid of what the answer would be. Most likely it's just simply wanting to protecting you. Who knows?" The Guildmaster leaned forward and gently tapped the end of the Floatzel's snout. "That's who," he said. "Whatever your reason may be, if you're willing, I can provide you with the answer," Gallade told him. "Ariados, she will wake up in about fifteen minutes. The full history would take _much_ longer than that. An abridged version… ten minutes or so. Of course, I can skip that and just tell you the answer if you'd prefer."

"Sounds like story time to me," Joker smiled happily, "There's no way I'd skip it."

"Alright then, Joker." The Guildmaster shifted on the bench to fully face the Water-type. Dim blue light from the smooth luminescent plate in the ceiling cast an outline on the Psychic-type, casting a shadow upon Gallade's face. "This is a tale that has been lost to history for hundreds of years. It will be missing most of its details. You may not take notes. You may not ask for a full version. Most importantly, you may not tell anyone what I tell you here. Are we clear?"

"Crystal."

"Okay." The Guildmaster folded his hands and rested his chin upon them, leaning forward. His one red eye gazed down to a crack in the floor and refused to move. He took a sharp inhale of the cold, mildewy air that filtered in from the vents, and when he spoke, it did not sound like the proud Guildmaster. No longer was his voice that of the hero who slayed the mighty titan years ago, the incarnation of the law that held this land together. It was now just a grim murmur, barely loud enough for Joker to hear. "The following is a brief, butchered version of your kind's history in this land. Stay quiet, and pay attention. You will not hear this again."

...

Riley arrived back in Treasure Town in the late afternoon with another assignment from his Guildmaster finished. Having this downtime was something he hadn't been used to, especially since he hadn't been able to release some of his pent-up energy as he had yesterday. Upset though he may have been, Riley wasn't alone in these droning tasks, and he felt the pressure from his teammates to stop being an emotional burden on them. Most of his sulking had been internal as he waited for the period of punishment to pass, and for a more exciting job to come his way.

"Hey, Pyro," called Rose to the Charmander ahead of her. "Can you do me a favor?"

"I'm not gonna commit before I know what I'm doing," Pyro answered.

"I need you to get me a TM for Riley," she said. "Iron Tail. We have the funds, and he's not going anywhere."

"Wait, really?" Such words awoke Riley into his usual juvenile excitement. "A new move?"

"Why do I have to buy it?" Pyro asked her. "And why now?"

"One, because the shopkeepers like you more, and two, we may as well try and make him somewhat useful," she answered.

"But-... Fine," he sighed. "I'll go pick up an Iron Tail. Where do you wanna meet up?"

"Either behind the Guild in the rocky outcrops, or somewhere outside of town. You know, where no one will get hurt."

"Hurt? What, are we sparring?" asked a hopeful Riley.

"Maybe a little," she shrugged.

"Yeah, alright. We didn't have anything else planned either," Pyro said, albeit reluctantly. "Behind the guild sounds fine. It'll be a bit of a hike, but aside from a few slopes it means being quicker getting home."

"'Kay. See you in a bit," she said.

The Charmander branched off and took a left whilst the other two continued on the route to the guild. Riley was grinning ear to ear as he waited in anticipation for his new move like a child waiting to get home to play with their new toy. At the base of the Guild's hill, there was another side path that went off to the right. It was barely even visible, and if Rose hadn't lead the way through it Riley would have never noticed it was there. Following it brought them around the hill and into a comparatively narrow stairway. From the look of it, anyone around Rhyperior's size would have had to find another way down. Rose stepped down first, and Riley soon after. The stairs were carved out of the stone to be perfectly smooth and parallel with each other, and they were cool to the touch of the Riolu's paw pads. The temperature only decreased as they went further and further down under more and more layers of shadows.

Riley was beginning to wonder why they would have such a neatly kept path for something that no one ever used, but he was caught off guard when halfway down the Roselia spun around and stared him dead in the eyes. "What _are_ you?" she harshly asked, placing her hands on her hips and leaning forward. Whatever answer Riley would give, it was clear she made up her mind.

"What do you mean?" Riley asked back, noticeably withdrawn from her presence. He looked behind him nervously.

"I _mean_ , none of this makes sense. And I think I know why. You're a human, aren't you?" she accused.

"I…" He hesitated. That mere second of silence already spelled his doom. An innocent person would have laughed that off or immediately just said 'no.' The corner of her lips formed into a grin as she saw him fall into her trap. _Just play her game_ , he thought. _Worse comes to worst, I can push her down the stairs and make a run for it_. Riley cleared his throat and finally gave her an answer. "Yeah. And what're you gonna do about it?"

The thin smile opened up on her face as she began to laugh in the Riolu's face. She shook her head and looked down to the ground between them. "Man… I can't believe it took me this long to put it together. Waking up in a field with amnesia? It's all so _obvious_ now."

"Just what the hell do y-"

"Relax, furball," she said, raising the blue floral hand between them. "I'm not gonna rat you out. In fact, quite the opposite. I, too, am a human."

"What?!" Realizing he shouted, Riley looked around anxiously to see if anyone had heard him, only for him to realize again that he's in a stairwell. Rose chuckled to herself. "You mean, you're-"

"Just as I said: a human. An outworlder. A traveler. Whatever you want to call it," she said.

"And what about Pyro?"

"Him? Oh, no, he was born here. He just found me one day and took me to the Guild," she answered. Riley, whilst staring intently at nothing in particular, stumbled backwards and sat upon one of the stairs. Rose did the same and sat on the step below his.

"So, your parents named you Rose, and you conveniently became a Roselia?" Riley thought aloud.

Rose laughed and shook her head. "No, no. It wasn't _that_ convenient. I couldn't remember my name when I woke up, so I picked Rose. It was supposed to be ironic, but looking back on it, it's not that clever. I just sound like one of the Pokemon my sister would have named when she was six. Pyro was named in the same vein," she explained.

"You don't remember your name?" he pressed.

"No. Well, I think I do, but _Rose_ kinda stuck with me," she said. "Changing it now would be a pain in the ass… Well, enough about me. What about you? Did anything come back for you yet?"

"Nothing," he answered. "All I have is a name."

"Is that it?" Rose asked. "After my first week, I had the image of my mother's face. Maybe, it differs from one traveler to another… You know, a few of my memories came to me through dreams. Did you have anything weird like that?"

"No, I-" He froze upon remembering days ago, waking up in a fright from being swarmed by those black squiggles, and those muffled voices. The name, _Hank_. The feelings the voices stirred. Indeed they were perplexing, but there was nothing to report in that dream that was useful information. It may as well all have been a drug trip. "Yeah, no. I got nothin'."

"Well, you shouldn't be too worried. Memories will come in due time," she said.

"How long have you been here, anyways?"

"Let's see," she muttered to herself. "It's probably been somewhere around a year and a half now."

"Damn. I was expecting, maybe, two months or so," said Riley.

"Nope. I've been looking for a way back, but shockingly I haven't found any leads," she continued. "It's not so bad here at least, so I'm in no rush."

"Huh. So… what does this mean now? What're we gonna do?" Riley asked.

"Nothing, really. There isn't anything _to_ do. Just thinking about your whole circumstance was bothering me. We're gonna keep our mouths shut and keep on living as we had."

"Does Pyro know about any of this?"

" _No_ , he does not," she answered with a hint of sternness. "And please keep it that way. If he found out I wasn't from here… Well, I don't know _what_ he'll do, but I don't want to find out."

"Loud and clear. I won't say a word to him," he assured.

"Thank you. If anything comes up, just remember you're not alone," Rose promised him. She stood up and stretched her arms over her head, popping her back. "But 'til you do, consider yourself alone. Don't bring any of it up. None of it."

"I get it. Keep my trap shut," Riley grumbled. He stood up after her and watched as the small Grass-type began her journey down the stairs again. After asking all these questions, he felt his mouth open to pose one last one that had been gnawing at him since he saw her. "So how did it feel to suddenly be one foot tall?" he asked.

The Roselia froze. She turned around and stared into the Riolu, who, especially now that he was five steps above her, loomed over Rose with a quizzical expression. Anger flared inside her, but it was quickly diffused when she saw that it was a genuine question, instead of that patronizing grin that Kirlia would have given her. She shook her head and bitterly laughed to herself. "It was... even weirder when I first woke up as a Budew. Gaining a bit of height was nice, but I'm still waiting to have fingers again."

"You don't… but how do you hold things?"

"I don't know, but it has something to do with petals. Anatomy is weird here. In our world, Pokemon like Dunsparce would have gone extinct a long time ago," she explained. "If I had the resources I'd be studying how this world works. But, I don't. I'm just treading carefully so I don't get caught."

"I remember being off-balance when I first woke up," Riley told her. "What's the point of having a big head like this, anyways?"

"Yeah. It's not just us, either. When you evolve it takes a while for anyone to get used to their new form," she said. "Pyro should be back soon. Come- we don't want him to overhear us. Get excited again. Iron Tail, remember?"

"Oh, yeah." Riley's usual smile spread across his face, and he began bounding down the stairs again. He rushed by the Roselia, taking three or four steps in each stride, only a single slip from missing a step and tumbling the rest of the way down. Rose found herself smiling at the sight, overlaying his newly-revealed identity upon the Riolu. It all made sense now: he was just some kid doing what seems like fun. There was something alluring in that to her, despite how frustrating it would be at times.

She had been lost in thought, absently walking down the stairs, when she noticed that Riley had stopped at the bottom step. His head poked out of the stairway and far to the left, observing something that she could not see. Rose opened her mouth to speak, but she abruptly halted when she heard it: the _thwack_ of a blade cleaving into wood. Twice, in fact, in rapid succession. Silently she began down the stairs again, listening to cleave after cleave, until she reached the bottom and peeked out with the Riolu.

Kirlia stood panting in the barren field with his dagger clutched in his right hand. His breaths were heavy, his lungs trying to push themselves out of his chest, but still he did not take a break. With his left hand as a medium for his telekinesis, Kirlia lifted up two thick wooden poles and set them upright on the ground. They were covered in deep scars from top to bottom, each one of them fresh. With a smirk on her face, the Roselia hopped down from the bottom stair.

"Well, isn't this a sight to behold," she said aloud. Kirlia spun around and glared at her with his dagger-arm cocked back. "I wonder what you-" In the blink of an eye a Teleport swept the Psychic-type away and out of her sight. The two logs collapsed to the ground with heavy _thuds_ and slowly, slowly rolled their scarred bodies along the uneven floor of the barren, rocky outcrop. "...you're doing here all alone… _Asshole_ ," she cursed him. "You could've at least let me finish before bailing."

"The hell was that about?" Riley asked.

"Normally he doesn't train. Maybe he's shy about it," she bellowed, in case Kirlia was still within earshot.

"Who's shy?" The two turned to see Pyro shouting back at them from the top of the stairs with a TM in his hand.

"Kirlia," Rose shouted back. "He was training down here, and bolted when he saw us." The Charmander laughed to himself.

"Hey, quick question," Riley whispered to the Roselia. "That TM... Is that a CD?"

"I don't know either," the Roselia whispered back. With a quick breath she returned to her normal speaking volume. "But it works, I promise. You'll get a kick out of this move. C'mon Pyro, get over here already."

"Alright, alright." The Charmander cautiously began to rush down the stairs with the TM clutched to his chest. Upon joining the group again, Pyro outstretched his arms and offered the disk to the Riolu. Riley eagerly took the TM and eyed it carefully. Even down from the material it was identical to a CD, save for shallow glyphs carved into it in a language he couldn't read.

"Admittedly I'm surprised you're here this soon," Rose told him.

"Yeah, there wasn't much of a line at the shop," Pyro replied. "I would've been here even sooner, but I ran into Buizel and Luxio. They were gonna grab something to eat. Looked really gloomy."

"Without Kirlia?" Rose thought aloud.

"Nope. Luxio said he's been in bed ever since we got back from the desert," Pyro continued. "Must've hit him hard."

"A-anyways," Rose said, "time to get this done. Iron Tail, remember?"

"Right," Riley said, keeping his gaze fixed on the smooth disk in his paws. "So how do these things work?"

"Mentally. The TM just kind of takes effect and takes the place of whatever move you want the least," she explained. "They're weird. I heard Ampharos makes them, if you want to learn about how they work."

"Ampharos? Who's that?" Riley asked.

"The Guild's technician," Pyro told him. "She usually stays in her room, but she does a lot around here. In her free time she creates Orbs and TMs, but she also does things like fixing the plate lights, or some of the forensic work for violent cases."

"'Usually.' That's putting it lightly," Rose scoffed. "She's like a damn ghost, emerging only in the middle of the night. Half the time I forget she even exists."

"Hm." Riley held the disk in both hands and raised it above his head. "So, how do I work this thing?"

"Simple. Put the TM against your forehead," Rose instructed. The Riolu did as she said, pressing the disk between his eyes so that it scraped against his muzzle. "Now close your eyes, and concentrate… Take deep breaths… That's good. Visualize the move... Let it become a part of you… Have it ta-" Before he knew it, the Fighting-type's tail was coated in a silver sheen as it was transmuted into an Iron Tail. A startled Riley threw the TM up in the air as the weight on his backside dragged him to hit the rocky floor on his ass. His teammates held in their laughter as a baffled Riley grasped his metal tail in his paws.

"Holy…" Riley grinned, his eyes mirroring the shine of his new move. "God damn, this is cool. Heavy, but cool."

"Of course it's heavy. It turns it into metal," Rose mocked. "You gonna sit there and gawk at it, or are you gonna test it out?"

"Test it, obviously," he beamed. The Riolu leaned forward and pushed himself to his feet, only to have gone a bit too hard and stumbled forward in a blind panic. Pyro lurched forward and grasped him by his arm to force him to stay upright. With restrained laughter, Riley shook his head and looked the Charmander in the eyes. "Thank you," he said.

"Don't mention it," Pyro insisted, retracting his claws.

"Well, for the save, too, but more for the move itself." Looking back at his silvery tail, Riley raised one foot off the ground and spun around. The Iron Tail moved with him, nearly bashing into the Charmander as the Fire-type leapt back. His movements were sloppy, to be expected, but the strength of being a Fighting-type was quickly giving him the balance Riley needed. "It'll be a hell of a lot more fun now."

"Yeah, just be careful with it," Pyro muttered. "It's like Rose said. We're not getting rid of you, so we may as well get serious about training you. You're one of us now, got it? I don't remember if we did it officially, but… Welcome to Team Hellraisers."

"I'm honored," Riley answered, sincerity masked by his glee.

"Enough of this," Rose interjected. "Come on already. Give the new move a spin!"

"On what?" Pyro asked her.

"You, of course." The Roselia pointed her red flower directly at the Fire-type, freezing him in his tracks. "He can't get any good experience from a few poles. What's the harm of some light sparring?" Riley perked his ears at the mere mention of the word.

"That's just it: _light_ sparring," he repeated. "I'm not sure if he even knows how that's done."

"What, are you afraid of a rookie like him?" she taunted. "All you have to do is dodge for a while as he gets used to his Iron Tail. I'll even tag in for you. Keep on going until we drain the furball of all his energy. What say you, Riley? Sound like fun?"

"Lots of fun," Riley said eagerly. "C'mon, Pyro. I won't hit you _too_ hard, if that's what you're afraid of."

"If that's how it is, I guess I have no choice," the Charmander sighed in an exaggerated manner. He put his claws behind his back and turned to face the Fighting-type. Orange flames spilled out of his mouth and lapped at his lips. The fire on the end of his tail surged with a sudden burst of energy. Playfully, Pyro continued. "I'll make you _regret_ those words!"

The mock-match went on for hours as Riley attempted to use his new move in tandem with his others, and through this he learned that Iron Tail had replaced Counter as a weapon in his arsenal. It was no great loss, and it was more than made up for by the exhilaration of the rest of the duel. Though it was not nearly as intense as the battlefield in the desert, it was still remarkably fun for everyone involved. By the time the sun set, Pyro and Rose were covered in bruises, and Riley had a fair share of his own. Patches of his fur were singed and cuts lined his arms and chest, and the exhausted trio lumbered back up the stairway. Blaziken paid them no mind as the three entered the Guild's cabin and descended down the ladder in the corner. After arriving during the tail end of dinner, they grabbed tonight's meal (sandwiches and a roasted apple for dessert) and retreated to their room, where they collapsed for the night like everyone else.

It didn't take long for everyone to pass out, and after twilight had ended the only noise was that of a low collection of snores. This was normal. During the night there were only a few sets of eyes still open. Some of the Guild staff would work late into the night, eventually dropping in the midst of their work into a heavy slumber. On a typical night, the only active being in the Guild would be Dusknoir.

So imagine the night guard's surprise when he overheard and witnessed Kirlia at the base of the cliff with his dagger locked against his arm. In a flurry of rapid motions the boy savagely ripped apart the wooden poles with the blade. His breaths were heavy but his actions unrelenting and brutal. Every time he hacked off a piece it would fly back into line with his Psychic, forcing his victim to stay in one piece.

"Hmm…" Dusknoir tilted his head as he studied the boy from the top of the cliff. His glowing red eye rolled in his vacant socket. "Hmmm-mmmmmm…" The ghost hummed to himself in his perplexion as he watched the Guildmaster's son move faster and faster, as if taking a second to rest would give the pole the opportunity to retaliate with all the hatred that had been beaten into it. "Interesting," Dusknoir muttered to himself. "Such basic training, but performed with such intensity…" He leaned over the cliff edge with his large hands folded behind his back to carefully observe the child. Abruptly Kirlia stopped in his tracks, the tip of his blade mere inches away from another cut into the pole. The boy raised his eyes to glare up at the Ghost-type looming over him.

"If you're trying to be sneaky, maybe you shouldn't talk to yourself," Kirlia bellowed up to him.

"My apologies. I did not intend to interrupt your exercises," Dusknoir assured him. "Please, continue like I'm not even here."

"Seighast," the boy called to him. Dusknoir twitched upon that word, reflexively clenching and unclenching a fist behind his back. "Don't you have guard duty to attend to?"

"Oh, my… Now, isn't this something. I'm certainly in a pickle," he said, just loud enough for Kirlia to hear. "I wonder where you picked that up? I certainly haven't heard that in quite a while. 'Seighast…'"

"Just turn around and leave me alone," Kirlia ordered.

"I'll respect your orders," Seighast replied, "but it's perplexing why you're doing this in secret. Being honest, I never could get a read on you." Kirlia bit down on his lip and aimed the end of his dagger at the single glowing eye of the Ghost-type. Dusknoir smiled and shook his head. "Ah, the angst of the youthful," he sighed. "You're doing nothing wrong, so I don't need to stop you. Having a bad attitude isn't a crime. Hopefully you'll retire soon and get yourself a good rest for tomorrow."

"Tch." Kirlia turned away from the Ghost-type and cocked back his arm. Like nothing ever happened he began his savage dance again against a foe that could neither fight back or flee.

"Perplexing, indeed," Seighast whispered. The ghost turned around and began drifting towards the porch again. He hummed his distant melody in his low, jolly voice, drowning out the sound of Kirlia mutilating his inanimate prey.


	21. Chapter 21: Investigation

Weavile slammed her claws down on a table. "I can believe Joker was arrested!" she exclaimed.

"Do you not know how libraries work?" Espeon sighed from his desk.

"You said you'd help me, right?" Weavile pointed out. "Do something, then."

"What should I do? Break him out?" Espeon asked.

"Well… no… but there has to be _something!"_ Weavile sat down in one of the chairs.

"If you want to be the boss of the syndicate, you need to make the most of a bad situation," Espeon advised.

"Make the most… hmm…" Weavile sat forward and buries her face in her arms. The quiet ticking of the clock on the wall and the scribbling of Espeon's quill were the only sounds that filled the room.

"Do you need a hint?" Espeon asked after a while with a slightly patronizing tone.

"Hang on…" Weavile mumbled from her position at the table. "What if we… yeah… I got it!" She suddenly jumped up.

"Do you?" Espeon hummed, uninterested. His quill was gliding over a piece of paper, effortlessly printing word after word in a neat cursive handwriting.

"We can make it look like the syndicate is falling apart under Persian's rule. With Joker behind bars, a huge amount of Pokémon are no longer usable to us." Weavile explained, "I'm sure everyone's on edge. We can spread rumors about how Persian fucked up, and make it seem like Joker was arrested because of a reckless order from Persian." Weavile paused to think, then grinned and continued, "But why stop there? We'll also tell the guild about Sableye's warehouse, and have that shut down. Pokémon will start thinking that Persian's way of running things isn't good enough."

"Oh? You're really going all out," Espeon commented.

"Of course! I have to rally the majority of the syndicate behind me. In order to do that, I need to ensure that they think I'd be a better leader than that cat." Weavile grinned. "I'll start whispering around. Could you go tip off the guild?"

"Why do I have to? It's _your_ plan," Espeon complained.

"You'll get there way faster," Weavile pointed out. "You _said_ you'd help me, yet you haven't done anything yet. This will be a good time to do that."

Espeon rolled his eyes. "If it'll get you out of my library faster…" he was suddenly enveloped in a soft light, and in an instant, he was gone.

The Psychic-type reappeared on the outskirts of Treasure Town. He trotted in an easy going manner to the small cabin atop the hill that made up the guild, his tail swishing behind him. Espeon stopped in front of the porch and looked at the Blaziken sitting in a rocking chair. "Excuse me," he greeted her, "I have something to discuss with your Guildmaster, regarding something of great importance."

Blaziken looked down at the fox with her half-closed eyes as she absently pushed herself back and forth with her talons. The wooden chair squeaked every time it was forced back on its heels. She clicked her tongue and placed her head on a clenched fist propped up on the chair's arm. "Well the Guildmaster hasn't told me to let you through," Blaziken shrugged.

"Of course he hasn't, because he doesn't know what I need to tell him," Espeon replied, trying to keep the edge out of his tone, "If he knew the information I have, it wouldn't be so imperative that I tell him." His tail waved in the air as he sat down, an indication that he wasn't going to leave so easily. "I am the Espeon that created the Knowall Library. I have transcribed hundreds of books, and I continue to expand the collection for the townsfolk's enjoyment and pursuit of knowledge. Obviously I wouldn't waste my time making the trek to this Guild if I didn't have information worth hearing."

"Well holy shit. _Look and behold_ , it's the one and only librarian," she said in her usual monotone, tired voice. "How dare I try and explain anything to the creator of the Knowall Library, who single-handedly writes down _hundreds_ of books? You came _all_ the way out here to share with us a single drop of your vast reservoir of knowledge. How could I turn you away? Please, come and bastardize the system Gallade worked so hard to put into place. Don't even bother with that process. Job request forms? Scheduling appointments? What the fuck even are those? Not important enough for a _librarian,_ that's what. Don't let me waste any more of your time, now. Gallade's next appointment isn't for an hour. I'm sure he's drowning in paperwork, but he can make time your oh-so-critical news. The hatch is hidden in the corner on the right. Go on in."

"If everyone in this Guild has a tongue like yours, this journey might prove entertaining after all." Espeon smiled dryly as he hopped up onto the porch. The cabin, he noticed upon entering, was a dull one-room shack unworthy of being the guild's face to the outside. Aside from a window in the back to give a view of a grassy hill that abruptly dropped into the rocky field beyond it, the walls were entirely empty. To the left of the doorway there were two beds, one empty, one containing a rotund Dusknoir with a red blanket draped over him, and the right held merely a table and a counter where a coffee pot now sat.

As the day guard had said, the flooring at the back right had a small seam in it, so small that it would have been invisible to a lesser Pokemon. Espeon gripped it in his telekinesis and lifted the flooring up, revealing a spiral staircase that had hastily been installed but a few days earlier. Without skipping a single beat in his stroll, he descended the stairs into the heart of the guild.

They led him into an indentation in a hexagonal room, with each wall branching off into its own room. A mess hall, an infirmary, a series of dorms, a vault, and a pair of elegant doors that stuck out in this hand-carved cave. Presumably, the only bit of class in this Guild had to be where the Guildmaster sat, behind the doors that had seemed to be ripped straight from a temple. Espeon lifted the door knockers in his psychic grip, and hit the door firmly twice.

The Guildmaster answered with with an exhausted, frustrated groan at his unexpected guest. " _Who is it?_ " he demanded for the name of the sinner.

"Espeon of Knowall Town Grand Library. I wish to speak with you regarding a certain crime organization," Espeon spoke through the door.

"I don't recall you signing up for an appointment," Gallade shouted back. "Blaziken actually let you in, did she…? I'm busy right now, but I can spare five minutes, if you wish to speak of something so important. Come on in." Mechanisms in the door clicked into place, and the door creaked open. The Guildmaster pushed to the side a stack of pages and returned his Articuno quill into the inkwell. He folded his hands and leaned forward towards his guest. "Well, librarian? What is so important that it brought you all the way here?"

"I heard you have arrested the ringmaster, so I figured this would be a good time to add to your prison," Espeon took long, confident strides into the room. "I came to inform you about a certain storehouse in Churchwell Village that smuggles and stores illegal goods." He took a coin from his bag and moved it towards the guildmaster with his psychic power. "This forged coin was taken from there, as evidence. They haven't been able to perfect the replica, and I was hoping you could put a stop to it before they do."

"Sableye's, I presume," Gallade stated. He snatched the coin out of the air and carefully inspected it in front of his face. The pattern of a five etched into the side was a bit rough, and as he scraped his finger along the surface he noticed that it was merely gilded. "Well, isn't this interesting… This evidence isn't enough on its own, however, but you likely have what I need: a written testimony."

"So, you want me to write down what I just told you," Espeon summarized. "You sure know how to create more work for Pokémon. You can expect a letter by tomorrow morning. This problem had better be solved soon," he turned and stalked out of the Guildmaster's room, muttering under his breath, "'written testimony,' my ass… what a pain."

"Or you could, you know, write it down for me _right now_ ," Gallade suggested. "You might be breaking our rules here, but since you came all this way, you can write it down and sign it with your print. Or do you just want an excuse to complain?"

Espeon groaned and turned around again, not taking a step closer to the Guildmaster, but instead standing in the doorway. "Alright, fine. Mind if I use this?" Espeon asked as he took the Articuno quill and a sheet of paper in his psychic grip, not waiting for Gallade's permission. The Guildmaster bit his lip. "I've already been gone for nearly three hours, and I'd like to not leave my library unattended for too long," he explained in an irritated tone as he scribbled words swiftly onto the top of the page in a rushed but somewhat neat handwriting.

"Well if you did things _normally_ , you wouldn't have had to leave it unattended," Gallade told him, tapping his finger on his mahogany desk.

"Don't you talk to me about managing things normally," Espeon grumbled moodily. " _Normally_ , an organization that upholds the law would hire Pokémon that follow said law."

"Ho…" Abruptly Gallade froze his finger in the air, and a sly smile grew on his pale face. "Testy, aren't we? So eager are you to try and put me in my place, that you can somehow pull up the past right out of your ass." He folded his hands together and placed his chin upon the bridge they formed. "Why bring this up, hm? Did you think it would shock me? Paint me as a hypocrite? Did you come by just for that, or did you decide to bring it up because you don't like being called out on your own stupidity?"

"Aw, did I strike a nerve?" Espeon hummed as he placed the quill and paper back onto the desk. "I finished the testimony, so I'll see myself out now. It's been a _joy_ to speak with you."

"There's still a few minutes left, just for you," Gallade offered. "Are you sure you want to turn down such a prime opportunity? Or are you just the kind of guy who likes to stir the nest and then run away?"

"Boy, you pegged it. But it's all in good fun, so just keep your head on," Espeon swished his tail as he sauntered out of the door, giving a pause for an over-the-shoulder comment as he left, "or at least try to."

As he exited the doorway, the magnificent doors drifted shut. The mechanisms inside _clicked_ and locked shut. Gallade was alone, as he frequently was, in his office, with not a trace of noise from the outside, and yet he still found himself smirking to his audience of none. He even chuckled, breaking out of his diplomatic pose as he slid the testimony over in front of him. To his dismay, the basic information of the job form had not been filled out, but not even that could change his expression.

 _Now, isn't this a surprising turn of events,_ Gallade thought to himself, reaching for the shimmering Articuno quill. _Here I thought I would have to go after them myself. This'll be much simpler now._ He dipped the point in the ink and began to write in the details that his guest had either forgotten or, more likely, not cared enough to do himself. _Though I do wonder just how stupid that librarian thinks I am_ , he continued. _He rarely leaves the library. It's odd enough that he made an exception to come here. Him going up to Churchwell all on his own? Ha. Someone else is having him expose Sableye for them._ The Guildmaster stopped writing. His smirk faltered. _But what would that reason be? Who else has incentive in this…?_

He shook his head and convinced himself, using the same words that Garchomp would have told him in his usual _it's-no-big-deal_ tone of voice. _Come now, boy. The law isn't allowed to hesitate. Just do your job as usual, alright?_

"Yes, sir," Gallade muttered, and finished writing the request himself.

…

The main room of the guild was filled with the active members as they all crowded around their Guildmaster that morning. Under Rhyperior's watchful gaze they remained silent. A weary Riolu stared through his half-open eyes at Gallade as the low amount of news trickled out of his mouth. He only picked up a few words here and there as he slowly began to shake off the dreams from the previous night. The only thing his conscious mind took note of was, yet again, the absence of one of his fellow Guildmembers. Buizel and Luxio had gone out that morning whilst Kirlia was nowhere to be seen.

"With that out of the way," rang the Guildmaster's voice, "you're all dismissed. Get to work!" A resounding _Yessir!_ answered him. The crowd dispersed back into the dorms, or up to the job boards, or wherever else they wished to be. The Roselia pivoted around to join the swarm of others, but she was pinned in place by the Guildmaster's gaze.

"You three," he said to them. "Team Hellraiser. If you have nothing else selected else already, I have a job for you today."

"Us?" asked the Charmander, his head cocked to the side. Riley mirrored his confusion. "Why us?"

"Because I said so," Gallade replied. He pulled out a sealed envelope from a clean leather bag that hung at his hip and tossed it towards the Fire-type who caught it out of its clumsy, lopsided flight. "It's simple, but I want you three to take care of it."

"Let's see here," he muttered, as his claws peeled back the fold and skimmed over the basics of the request. The essentials had been filled in by Gallade's neat handwriting, labeling the task as "domestic case: counterfeit currency," evidence of which was tucked in the bottom of the envelope in the form of a gilded coin. Pyro paused for a moment and looked up to the Guildmaster. "You're giving us a domestic case?" he asked.

"That's right," he nodded. "There's nothing wrong with that, is there?"

"What's a domestic case?" Riley asked.

"Criminal activity," Rose answered him. "It means we're heading out to enforce the law. No dungeon today." His ears drooped.

"There's nothing _wrong_ with it," Pyro stated, "but it's just not what we're used to. Why give it to us?"

"Because this needs to get done," Gallade answered. Rhyperior, passively listening in, rolled his eyes. "I figured that you're competent enough to get the job done, and if things go sour you have the means to restrain them."

"That's true," Pyro muttered.

"We can handle it," Rose offered. "What's the case?"

"Counterfeit," Pyro answered, lifting the paper out of the envelope to reveal the testimony the client provided, certified with a signature and pawprint. "It's been tracked to… _Sableye's place?!_ " he shouted in disbelief.

"What, really?" The Roselia stepped forward and quickly began scanning the testimony, until she stopped upon the words _Sableye's Storage._ "Holy hell," she said, practically whispering. "If this is true, just imagine the impact it's gonna have."

"And for good reason," Gallade added. "I trust that I can leave this to you three?"

"Yes, sir," Rose stated, tightening her posture into a salute. Pyro mimicked her, and Riley, still a bit confused, angled his arm to put his paw to the side of his head and put his legs together.

"Then what're you still doing here? Go on now. Get to work." The kids looked up to him, then amongst one another, and then, with a blend of a passive shrug and a determined nod, joined the rest of the crowd and headed up the stairs, through the cabin, past Dusknoir as he ended his shift, and into the dawn to begin their job.

A sharp exhale rushed out of Gallade's nostrils. He stretched his arms above his head and twisted his back so that he was facing the large Rock-type. "Hey, Rhyperior," he groaned. "I'm going out today. Mind looking after the Guild for me?"

"Tch. Let me guess, that means paperwork, too?" Rhyperior growled.

"Naturally," Gallade nodded. He twisted his back the other way with a series of muffled pops. "None of the hard stuff, though, so don't fret. Everything that isn't a request you can leave for me. I'll be back this afternoon."

"Fine, I'll do it," Rhyperior sighed. "Just a reminder though, my handwriting is hideous."

"I'm aware." He hopped twice in place. "So long as it's legible, I couldn't care less. We aren't writing a book here."

Rhyperior shrugged and lumbered over to the office doors. Gallade flicked his wrist towards it, letting the mechanisms slide into place and gradually swing open. "It's not like I can go anywhere, anyways," he grumbled. "Just make sure you know what you're doing out there."

"What's this? Have I done anything to make you doubt me?" Gallade asked with a sly smile.

Rhyperior shook his head. "Your actions haven't," he told him. "Just… Get out already. I want to spend as little time as possible sitting at your damn desk."

"Yeah yeah," Gallade sighed. "Remember, take the guest quill. I don't want to risk the Articuno feather with your clumsy hands." The Rock-type rolled his eyes. He pushed the door further open and slammed it shut behind him. "Tch…" He began forward through the near-empty guildhall. The only underlings he could see were those that had the day off and were returning to their rooms. _I wish the guy could get out more_ , Gallade thought to himself as he ascended the spiral staircase. _If I get the chance, I'm bringing the guy somewhere. Maybe once this is over…_

…

It was sometime in the middle of the morning as a Rapidash galloped across the fields. Her fiery mane shimmered behind her as her guests basked in the warmth upon her saddle. The Charmander took in the most heat himself, while the Roselia sat behind him lost in her thoughts. Riley laid upon the back, holding his paw just over the flame to test how close he could get without burning himself. He waved it back and forth over the flickering fire, fascinated by its glow and the game he made of it.

That is, until a sharp and sudden prick in the back of his neck shocked him from it. With a high yelp he jolted away, spinning around and clutching the punctured-point with his paw. There he saw the small Roselia with her arm held out over him and brandishing her harsh, beady gaze. "Stay focused," she demanded.

"On _what?_ " he asked. "There's nothing for miles but farms and hills." He waved his left arm outward to the landscape. There were exactly six houses visible, some of which might have been barns or storage places, amongst all the fields that birthed rows of wheat and corn and cabbage, and many other crops that blended into greens and browns in the distance.

"Our _mission_. You know, _why_ we're all the way out here?" Rose snapped. Pyro awkwardly stiffened his posture and stared forward, pretending not to hear.

"What's so special about it?" Riley moved his paw in front of his face, staring at a small red splotch on the pad. Though the wound stung slightly, he couldn't feel anything running through his veins as he did before, so he decided not to confront her about it.

"Well, let's see here," she said. "It's the first time you're tackling the law now. Do you remember a _single_ thing about it?"

The Riolu mulled over his thoughts for a moment. "Well… I didn't learn much from the circus, really, and neither of you really taught me much."

"If anyone knew about this…" she muttered. Rose looked over to the Rapidash that carried them. "He's only been with us ten days, so-"

"If you're talking to me, I'm not listening," Rapidash answered, keeping her gaze forward. "It's a habit we tend to pick up. May as well have earplugs."

"Hm… Well, that's good to hear," Rose replied. Their ride didn't answer. "Anyways... Pyro, you wanna take things from here? You got this down better than I."

"Oh, uh, sure." The Charmander twisted around. "Should I just go over the basics, or do you want a full lecture?"

"The basics will do," Riley requested.

"For now, yes," Rose concurred. "Later though, we'll have to give him the rest of it."

" _Yay_ ," he muttered in a monotone voice.

"Right." Pyro cleared his throat. "I guess, it all starts at a job request. When someone needs help with something, they'll ask the guild for help in exchange for a reward of sorts. Members interested in the job, or said reward, will take it on. It's the only tax we have have around here."

"I get that part. I've done this a few times now," Riley told him.

"Just makin' sure," Pyro said. "With the nature of Mystery Dungeons, a lot of issues tend to involve going in there. Of course, there's also domestic issues. They can be small, like theft and counterfeit. Obviously, things like murder and assault and destruction are more severe, but, we're not tackling that today."

"Mmhmm." Riley nodded to confirm he was listening.

"Jobs like these require a lot of investigation. Searching around, asking questions, putting things together, a lot of things like that," he explained. "When we go in, we have to announce ourselves to someone in charge. Since we have a testimony and valid evidence, that gives us a warrant to explore their place to our satisfaction. Jobs like this can take days to weeks."

"I'd be surprised if it took less than three days," Rose added. "At minimum. A crime like counterfeit, in an organization as big as this one? I don't know what Gallade was thinking, assigning us to this job."

"Maybe he thought it'd be a good learning experience," Pyro shrugged.

"Three days?" repeated a disheartened Riolu. "We're spending, at least, three days searching for some damn coins, or whatever we're after? But… What'll we do? Where will we sleep?"

"Oh shit, that's right," Rose said. "He doesn't know about the barracks yet." Riley perked his ears.

"You want me to take that on, too?" Pyro offered.

"Nah. I'll give you a break," she replied. "Towns from all over make deals with the Guild to have a handful of us, about a dozen or so each, to be posted in some building in town. The mayors pay for them to stay and patrol to try and prevent any crimes from going on. Whenever an investigation goes on out of town, there's always a few rooms open for them."

"Okay, but, that doesn't fix the fact that we're doing _three days of investigating_ ," Riley scowled. He turned around and scanned the vast landscape around him. "You think we could just bail and find a dungeon around here?"

"Not an option," Rose proclaimed.

"Hold on," Pyro asked of him. "If we catch them, we'll get to run after and detain them. They might even fight back. Forging money is a severe crime, so they'll be put away for a long time."

"Dungeons sound more fun, if I'm being honest," Riley admitted.

"I don't want to pull this card," Rose scolded, "but you promised to stop whining about this crap. Are you gonna play along, or will we be forever incapable of trusting you?"

"You-" … They were right. Damn it, they were right. These were his only friends here, and he certainly wasn't making it easy for them. The last thing he wanted was for them to feel like his babysitter. "Alright," he gave, reluctantly. "I'll comply."

The Roselia raised her floral hand and wiped her brow. "Thank God. I'm already upset as it is," she muttered. "I hate jobs like this, too, but you don't say 'no' to Gallade. He doesn't _let_ you." The Guildmaster's welcoming, unchanging smile flashed in Riley's mind, as well as the method of gentle sternness to carry his orders across.

"What's his deal, anyways?" Riley asked. "This Sableye's place sounds like a big deal. Why leave it to us? Why not give it to the guys who specialize in this stuff?"

"The Guildmaster works in mysterious ways," Rose muttered quizaciously.

Rapidash sprinted across the dirt path, winding through the countryside, and up the hillside, where their destination came into view. Small cobblestone houses lined up beside similarly-built shops formed the village of Churchwell. It was a quaint, cute town nestled in the fertile valley. There, at the north end, loomed a tall stone tower, far greater than anything Churchwell otherwise held.

"There it is," Pyro absently said as he stared forward.

"Lovely," Rose sighed. "You guys ready for this?"

"Nope," Riley answered, "but it doesn't matter. We still gotta do this, right?"

"That's right," Pyro confirmed.

"We'll be dealing with a lot of older, bigger Pokemon," Rose continued. "Just remember not to make yourself seem so small. Don't let yourself get intimidated, or lose your cool. Stay professional."

"I'll try," Riley told her. Rose begrudgingly accepted his answer, for she knew she would get nothing better.

…

Rapidash dropped the team off on the main road and galloped away, joining the light traffic of the late morning. The bazaar in Knowall was over, and that meant that the kind of activity from a week ago was long gone. Then the village was filled far past its small capacity as merchants rushed in and out like a colony of ants scavenging all of its valuables, but now that there was no urgency to economically pick them clean, all that remained was the small population of Churchwell and its usual business.

Riley raised his arms above his head and popped his back as he stretched himself back out again. It was a relief to be back on his feet again, even if it was for such a tedious job. There was at least _something_ he could do to find entertainment, or so he told himself. The brain knows itself well enough to convince itself of anything.

His gaze, along with his partners', fell upon their destination at the north end of town. It was undoubtedly the most advanced structure within fifty miles. A great tower loomed over the village that sprawled out at its feet, much taller than anything around it. It was at least some ten stories tall, probably more (Riley was never a good judge of height, and being so much smaller didn't help), of sleek gray stone. On each floor there were holes leading inside, the details of which they could not see from this distance. Flying-types would land in and take off from these as they brought in and took out trace amounts of goods.

"Huh." Riley cocked his head to the right. "Can't believe I didn't notice this last time. It's… pretty impressive, compared to everything else around here." _But it ain't nothing like up in Wrytsberg_ , he thought. Visions of the colossal architecture and the towering windmills passed through his mind as he again thought of the great city between the mountains. If he ever had the time, he would try and go back there, if for no other reason than to sightsee.

"We'll get the chance to explore it first-hand," Rose replied, noticeably sunken in her posture. "Thoroughly."

The Charmander spoke up in a low, monotone voice unusual for his typical mannerisms. "What a joyous opportunity," he murmured.

"Hey," Rose scolded, shooting Pyro an accusing stare. The Fire-type gave her a weary look. "To be fair, this is an opportunity most don't get. Not everyone can explore this building all the way… Every single floor... For the next while at least… This is going to be painful." She shook her head and covered her forehead with the petals of her blue rose. "Let's just get this over with."

"Yes ma'am," said Riley.

It was a short walk, no more than fifteen minutes, to get to the other end of Churchwell at a brisk pace. Admittedly, hurrying through such a peaceful village earned their fair share of glances, but lingering around to sightsee wasn't all that enticing. There wasn't much around here _to_ see, at least on the path they took, so it was just a mere fifteen minutes of the two boys moving as fast as they could without leaving the small Grass-type behind.

 _Sableye's Storage_ was written above the entryway in a stylized cursive font. Wooden double doors stood before them, both ancient and dusty, yet gleaming in a coat of polish in an attempt to mask their age. Only to the untrained and uncareful eye would this work, and there was no such eye in the party that day.

The Roselia closed her eyes and took a deep breath in an attempt to conjure her charisma to veil her. "H'okay," she whispered. "We can do this. Just… Just don't get intimidated. Don't let them get to you."

Riley, warily looking over at her, leaned over to Pyro and muttered to him, "She's okay, right?"

"Most likely," Pyro answered him, somewhat uncertain himself. Of course this did not make Riley any less concerned for what this job could possibly entail.

"Alright!" she exclaimed, if only for herself if nobody else. "Let's… Let's get started." She straightened out her posture, at most gaining an inch in height, and pressed forward into the building. Either the doors were surprisingly light, or the dainty Grass-type had a shocking unseen strength, as she pushed the door open with only a faint sign of a struggle.

Rows upon rows upon rows of cabinets and shelves filled the lobby with a narrow, efficient grid system leading between them. It was relatively empty this time of day, at least on this floor, with only a few customers out in the labyrinth. A wide, carpeted strip lead from the doorway, lined by the cabinets like soldiers parting a path for their exalted guests to travel down. Such is exactly how the Roselia carried herself, with a noble, almost pompous air about her. The arrogantly dutiful look in her eyes gave her stare the ability to, despite her size, make the recipient feel as if they're being looked down upon. Her followers managed to amplify this about her, as the Charmander followed with a bored yet alert expression, and the Riolu swept his gaze about the new room, masking his curiosity behind a veil of caution.

Sitting slumped over behind the desk was an old Kecleon. He wore a tired expression as he gazed across his wooden workplace to the visitors. "Welcome," he rasped, his voice gravelly and quiet. "How may I help you?"

She abruptly stopped in front of the desk, just a few feet away, and stared up at the Normal-type. "I'd like to speak to whoever's in charge at the moment," she proclaimed.

The Kecleon raised a brow and recoiled faintly. "Do you not think I'd be of adequate help to you?"

"We're here on official Guild business, and it's classified unless your boss decides to tell you," she said, as if she was warning him. To add to this she glared at him with her sharp black eyes, showing impatience and diplomacy.

"My, my, kids these days are so cocky…" the Kecleon laughed as he hopped off his chair. "Stay here. I'll go call him." He hobbled slowly towards the back door, using a cane to support himself. Rose watched his trek impatiently, until he finally stopped at the doorway and called out, "Sableye! Some Guild kids want to see you!"

Within moments, the Ghost-type's fast footsteps could be heard racing down the stairs, and he soon came to a grinding halt in front of the chameleon Pokémon. "The Guild is here? What for?" he inquired.

"I don't know," Kecleon answered.

"Well, did you ask them?"

"They said it was classified."

Rose cleared her throat loudly, sensing Sableye wasn't giving her any of his attention. Sableye's head shot up to look at her, as if he was surprised she was there.

"What are you here for?" Sableye asked her.

"Well, for privacy reasons, we _should_ go into your office," she replied. "But if you don't mind being overheard, I can tell you right now."

"I have utmost _trust_ in my workers," Sableye spoke in an almost mocking tone, "Nothing you can tell me is too secret for them to hear."

The small Roselia snapped her arm back towards Pyro, without so much as a look in his direction. He looked to the blue flower, then to the back of her head, then back to the flower, as he tried to discern meaning from this gesture. All of the sudden he did, and he reached into his bag and removed a folded slip of paper that sat neatly upon his Explorer's gear. He placed it amongst the blue petals, which clamped down upon it and carried it over to Sableye. The Ghost-type unfurled it carefully. Beneath rows of information, his gemlike eyes were caught by a rough gilded coin attached to the bottom left corner by a light dab of glue.

"It's a job request," she explained, hopefully quelling any of the needless confusion that might come from staring at all the needless data. "You've been accused of forging counterfeit money, and the coin is allegedly from this property."

"Oh? Well, isn't this interesting…" Sableye looked concerned at the forged coin, "I didn't think anyone here would do something like this…" he glanced over at Kecleon, nodding his head towards the back door ever so slightly before speaking, "Do you know who might be behind this?"

"No, sir," Kecleon replied, "Shall I ask around?"

"If you don't mind." Kecleon nodded and gradually began to hobble off elsewhere into the building. Sableye turned back to the Guild members. "So I suppose the next step would be a search of the premises?"

"Of course," she scoffed.

"Then, you are free to do so," Sableye swept his arm over to the door, gesturing that they can enter as they please, "I have nothing to hide." The Kecleon had already vanished behind the door, his footsteps too distant to hear.

"Jesus," Riley muttered. The Roselia turned around, her pompous air about her gone, to face the Fighting-type, only to see him staring down at her with disgust. She cocked her head to the side and looked with her beady black eyes to discern the source of this anger. "What the hell was that about?"

"What do you-" Her lips stopped mid-word as it dawned on her. She looked away for a moment, cleared her throat, then took a deep breath and resumed eye contact. Seeing this change, Riley relaxed his expression. "Acting like that can get you far when you need get your way," she muttered, just loud enough so the rest of her party could hear. "I picked it up from Kirlia. You know how he can be, but he gets things done."

"Well, it wasn't too bad of an impression," Riley said. "No wonder it pissed me off."

"I wouldn't say you went _as_ far as Kirlia would," Pyro added. "He'd have added some insults in for good measure. ' _Of course we're gonna investigate, gem-fucker. What else would we be here for? Selling cookies?_ "

Rose chuckled briefly before shaking her head and returning to a more professional state of mind. "Time to get to work," she said. "No more fun allowed." Riley had to will himself not to audibly groan. "First thing's first, we should divide up the tasks. I'll go ahead and start questioning. Probably best that way."

"You got something to take notes with, right?" Pyro asked her.

"I always do," she said confidently.

"Right." He looked to the Fighting-type. "We'll split up the grounds to search. I'll take the tower, you take the warehouses in the back. Sound good?"

"Good enough," Riley answered.

"I'll take it," Rose said. "We'll meet back at sunset here in the lobby. If anything happens before then, use your Recall Orb."

"Wait, what?" As usual, it was Riley, clueless of this new world's intricacies. His partners were used to this by now, so they didn't skip a beat when trying to explain.

"Orbs are enchanted devices that retain the powers of certain moves," Pyro told him. "They can't harness attacks, but moves like Sunny Day or Teleport can be stored, albeit with limits. Teleport can only bring you to other set points."

"That's the move that's in a Recall Orb," Rose continued. "They come in sets. If you hold it tightly, the other ones will flash and ring. The others need only to be held in turn and they'll bring you to whoever called for help. You have one in your bag, you know."

Curious, the Riolu slipped his hand into his Explorer's Bag and felt around amongst the Iron Thorns and handful of berries and a rolled up map held in a smooth wooden case. Beneath them all he felt two spheres of polished glass, roughly the size of an Oran Berry each. He picked the one on the right and pulled out a glossy blue sphere with a lavender glint within.

"That's the one," she confirmed. "Hold it tight and it'll alert us all. Let go and it'll stop."

"What about the other one?" he asked.

"It's an Escape orb. If you're in a dungeon it'll bring you out to the entrance again." She paused for a moment to think of anything she might have forgotten. When she decided that she hadn't, she nodded her head and turned around. "If that's about it, then let's not waste any more time."

"That's all I needed," Riley said.

"Right." She stretched her hands above her head. The joints in her thin, stem-like arms popped. "Now, I've gotta spend the rest of the day making sure everything remains consistent. Lucky me."

"Thank you," Pyro proclaimed. "I know it sucks, but you'd do a better job than either of us."

The Roselia paused for a moment, stunned by his gratitude. She coughed quietly and resumed her dignant persona. "You're welcome," she answered, masking a small mass of pride within her. "No more stalling. Remember, back here at sunset."

"Yes ma'am," Riley said, forming into a mock-salute.

…

Sableye's place was sparsely occupied, as Rose soon learned when getting a head count of the staff, at any given moment with only some fifteen staff members, who typically stayed for the whole work day. On the day in question, when the librarian supposedly caught them in the act (or so his testimony proclaimed), a mere handful of the present workers were working that day. But of course, no one proclaimed that there was any criminal acts going on here. All the evidence she had to go on was a coin and a written testimony, and the witness was in another city altogether.

Rose just finished up a short interview with an Archeops. Like the others he was not happy to be interrupted, and he gave the same response as everyone else. The only variance was that the Archeops was, in fact, working on the day in question, on the very floor he was on now and doing the same job: organizing. He had to tend to and take stock of all the items on this floor. This was one of the most valuable floors, filled with TMs that were kept wrapped and stored in cloth and flour. An earthquake could have struck and they would remain untouched. With such an important and careful job, he did not appreciate being questioned. All she got from it was written down as 'present on day in question, saw nothing, does not know witness.' With such meager information, she was on her way to the stairs.

On her way there, Rose couldn't help but to be dissatisfied with this kind of investigation. The system made sense in a way (get a testimony, investigate the grounds and collect evidence, return to witness and proceed to ask further questions, go back to investigating, rinse and repeat until you can form a reasonable conclusion), but it wasn't gripping her. Domestic jobs like this weren't her cup of tea, but if she was being forced to drink it, she prefered it with at least some bit of drama, or theatrics mixed in for good measure.

As she walked up the stairs, a memory flashed in the back of her mind, springing to life and playing out before her as her body mechanically ascended. It was relatively quiet around her as she sat on an old, torn, yellow leather couch with a wool blanket huddled around her. The only sound that came in was the quiet music rising up from her Nintendo DS, speakers lowered so that it whispered its melody to her, as she watched the final pixelated courtroom drama of the first Ace Attorney unfold before her.

Taking the stand was a large, muscled man in an orange tuxedo. He had a large square face and neat, stylized white hair. While for the most parts it was neat, combed back, almost sharp, there was a long tuft of hair running down the middle that fluffed about and fell over his forehead. He stared back at the audience, a fixated young Rose, above his rectangular lavender-lensed glasses with his cold hazel eyes. His hands were folded behind his back, and bore a smug, bored expression with his lips pursed together. Or, perhaps it was just a flat, patronizing smile, and the lines at the corner of his mouth were just his face sagging in age, though she preferred to think of it as the former. Regardless, something about his portrait alone made her like this character immediately, and this man, the police chief Damon Gant, became her favorite character in the game.

A white, jagged, comic book-style speech bubble burst out of nowhere and blocked the face of Gant, and the word _OBJECTION!_ filled it. Through the speakers came the voice of the protagonist, and the camera panned over to the left to show the young man dressed in blue, Phoenix Wright, the aforementioned ace (defense) attorney. He pointed his finger at Gant, and a text box appeared beneath our attorney. Wright had said… something. Rose couldn't remember every line, of course. Another speech bubble covered our hero, filled up with another _OBJECTION!_ , this time narrated by a slightly deeper, more aristocratic voice. The camera panned to the far right, where the prosecutor Miles Edgeworth, a grim-looking man in a red tux (come to think of it, was there a character who just wore regular gray or black, except for the judge?). Edgeworth, as his textbox labeled him, smugly shook his head and proceeded to correct Wright's claims. The camera went back to Wright, who slammed his hands on his desk to defend his position. Back to Edgeworth, who demanded evidence with a cocky grin. On the bottom screen, the Court Record popped up, offering her to select from the collected evidence. The intensity of the music, albeit quiet, and the motivation to wipe that smug smile off of Edgeworth's face put her brain to work, putting together what she knew and carefully examining the flavor text of the evidence.

The memory abruptly snapped into pieces, bursting apart and scattering into the deep crevices of her brain, when she realized something. The Roselia, now halted halfway up the stairs, had just tried to move her thumb. She tries to move a thumb that she did not have. That brief fragment of memory she had grasped onto… moving her thumb over from the A button to the touch screen to select a piece of evidence…

Rose bit her lip and began up the stairs again. _I don't have time for this_ , she told herself. On the next floor there would be someone else to question, to ask the same questions to and get the same evidence from another resentful employee. _I don't have time to hate_. She knew this was true in the depths of her mind and soul, but it didn't stop her. Rose still hated how dull this was, how hopeless and grating this was becoming, compared to the narratives she had once enjoyed. It happened from time to time, and it was happening now, that she craved for the games she used to play, the shows she used to watch, where things were drawn out for her, controlled by someone who played god and forged a world solely to entertain other gods who did not want to create. She could not be one of them here. As she reached the top of the stairs, she pushed her anger down, silencing it with a pillow over her face. Its last cry, just as she looked at the new employee, a Monferno, was that she hated, above all else, the flowers that had replaced her hands.

…

Things were just as tedious for the boys, too. They weren't nearly as aggravatingly repetitive and hopeless, but it was even more work to sift through everything there. Every deposit box was a possible hiding spot, so they too must be searched. Under the watchful gaze of one of Sableye's employees the Charmander climbed up and opened each drawer and searched through. They were mostly personal deposit boxes filled with treasured belongings, like old leather bound books, or old jewelry, or other valuables, both in economics and in an unseen sentiment. There wasn't much appraisal Pyro could do, as he rummaged through each deposit back and quickly, yet delicately, pushed them closed. The salamander climbed up another six inches or so on the walls of deposit boxes and opened the next one. It was mechanical. Open the box, look around, nothing of interest, close the box, climb up, repeat. He had no qualms with this, for he had turned himself off while performing his tasks. Actively thinking would only slow him down and make his experience more miserable. Thoughts stewed in the back of his mind, but by the time he was done, they would have evaporated away.

Riley, on the other hand, was not willing to silence himself in the name of efficiency. His actions couldn't be quite as mechanized in the warehouse anyways, or so he would have told the others if anyone harped on him. For the most part he was alone here anyways, at most seeing shadows of other life against the distant walls, so he felt safe from ridicule.

He didn't want to admit it at first, but this was a damned impressive structure. It was comparable to an aircraft hanger, but perhaps that was because of the Riolu's size. Crates and barrels were stacked on top of each other in a way akin to city blocks, towering high above Riley as he proceeded down the wide concrete paths that formed a grid around these blocks. Each crate had a series of numbers and letters in plain black text stamped on the side. He could admire the sheer scale of what he wandered through. But that was it. The admiration faded away as it dawned on him that he had to look through all that.

There were no windows on the outside of the building, unless you counted a small glass pane on the door, from which a beam of light cut through the musty air of the warehouse, so Riley advanced through under the light of hanging luminescent gems. Whatever these things were, they seemed to show up everywhere he went. They hung from thick cords, swaying back and forth just so slightly, none of which in time with another. Each light was playing its own song, unaware of those around it, which in unintended made a discordant concert of light. Faint shadows rotated around in gradual but controlled arcs, overlapping with one another, before stopping slowly and moving back. Over the course of days, such an environment would be maddening. In a mere two hours, it just might have gotten to the boy, for everywhere he went, he thought he could catch something following him in the corner of his vision, hiding in the dancing shadows. There never would be anything when he darted his head, which, if anything, only made his mood worse.

Riley was approaching his third hour, and he was halfway through his third row of crates. He had climbed to the top of the mound of boxes, grumbling to himself, and placed his paws on the edge of crate. The things that were akin to fingers (anatomy was never his strong suit, and being in such a world did not help) clamped down on the corner and pried off the top. The wood screamed as it bent, but after one last gasp it relented, allowing the Riolu to lift it further up. With one arm holding up the lid, he used the other to pull himself further inside and peered within. It contained, as nearly everything else, nothing of any importance. Merely glass panes, pressed tightly with only a thin but fluffy layer of some kind of cotton between them, laid before him. With an irritated groan, Riley slammed it shut. Behind him, the door to the warehouse creaked open, paused for a moment, and then promptly closed as the remaining employee left for business Riley neither knew nor cared about.

He remembered his promise to be more cooperable, and to not shirk from this assignment, but the sheer boredom of it all made it difficult not to. Every single crate was just like this one. He'd open it up, find nothing worth his time, then slam it shut and move onto the next one. Surely, there had to be a better way. What the hell was Gallade thinking, sending three kids to investigate a place as big as this? This whole thing is a sham. After the first hour, it had occurred to him to just bail on this, to go out into the wilds beyond town and hang there until sunset. How likely was he to find anything, anyways? Far, far less likely than the chance that either of his teammates would finish early and come to check up on him. That, and his promise to cooperate… Begrudgingly, he pressed on.

It was a job made possible and tolerable with a loose string of thoughts he felt his way down as he worked. Through climbing the mounds of crates and prying lids with his own paws, he kept himself occupied by wondering what a 'real Explorer' would be doing, and the kinds of jobs they would take. He wondered for awhile just how far away he was from being a 'real Explorer.'

Following this thread brought him to the conversation from a few nights ago. He could feel the cold night air as it had been, as Gallade stood before the remains of the colossus that had once invaded. _You want strength_ , Gallade had told him. _Do you want to be a hero, or a warlord?_

"Hero," he muttered aloud. _Then start acting like one_. How was he to do so when he was assigned to open a few thousand boxes? What kind of hero would that make for? The sheer arrogance, strictness in Gallade's tone, ringing around in his head, grated on him. Preaching about wanting to change the world… What kind of change was he supposed to put into the world when he was stuck with jobs like this?

Riley had climbed to the top of his mound of boxes, his paws gripped to the edge of the box, when something caught his eye. There was a brief glimmer, a twinkle like a distant star, a nudge in the back of the boy's head that alerted him. He darted his head, leaning himself forward, to find his gaze aimed at another mound of boxes a hundred feet away or so. There was no one there, no one to be heard, or seen, but in its place, right in his sights, was an odd device that had not been there prior. From this distance it was not clear just what it possibly was, but Riley knew that there had been nothing there prior. The first thing he did was check the pathways for anything, both just in case the forgery device was left out (in which case the job would end immediately), and so, if it had been, he wouldn't be ridiculed for missing something so obvious. The sudden appearance of this object, whatever it was, roused a curiosity within him that overtook his mood. It was a bit of happiness, some respite from the brooding boredom, so he did not hesitate to investigate. He leapt from the mound of boxes, descending from one layer to the other, and made his way to the mysterious device.

It hadn't been there before when Riley first patrolled, or so he thought, for he would have caught the dark gray against the planks of wood. Nevertheless, it was sitting on top of another crate, nestled in the corner in some vain attempt to stay hidden. Riley leapt up to it and took a closer look.

What laid before him was a smooth stone furnace, a mere inch shorter than he was, with only a small pipe curving out of the back towards the sky to jut out from its perfectly cut geometry. The surface that faced him had a slot in the middle, big enough to squeeze his head into, where it gave view to a cluster of dying embers. Their glowing red specks of heat shone through a blanket of ash. A steel grate, crusted and charred black, imprisoned the bed of flames. He gave the interior no more than a fleeting glance to check if it was empty, and it was. The objects of interest were above.

Front-and-center there was a thick, dark, shallow dish of some kind, made from a durable material, although quite poorly. It was rough and lumpy, like something a toddler would bring home from art class. Laying on the brim was a needle, stout and sturdy, that's positioning vaguely reminded him of the makeshift compasses with a cup of water, a cork and a needle. Behind it, tossed on its side, was a block of thick metal, the very same as the dish, the size of a brick. He could see four indentations on one of the faces. They were round and shallow, the exact size of a golden coin. He confirmed this later by sliding a coin inside, to which it fit perfectly.

Tucked in the corner, neatly aligned to the edges of this furnace, was a stock of sheets of gold foil, surrounded by a scattering of a half dozen partially-gilded coins. Their engravings were rough and noticeably flawed, so that even Riley could tell they had been etched by hand.

"Sweet Jesus," Riley muttered to himself. A grin formed on his muzzle, the result of some combination of relief, disbelief, and some trace bits of excitement. He stopped for a moment, and his ears shot up. The silence seemed to drown him. Neither did he see anyone, too, in the light of the swaying gems. Carefully, he removed the glass orb, and gazed into the blue glass trapping within it the lavender glint. The Riolu took a shallow breath, and began to grip down upon it as hard as he could. It reacted to his pressure, and the lavender glint swelled out to break free of its prison. It pushed beyond the glass, casting its light like a beacon. Riley shielded his eyes and dropped the thing like he just opened the gates of hell. He staggered backwards and fell on his ass, and proceeded to lay there, propped up on his elbows, as he watched through squinted eyes to see what demon-spawn would pop out.

He wasn't too far off, for first to emerge from the beacon was the flaming salamander, his eyes wide and alert. When Pyro's feet hit the ground, the first thing he did was scan the immediate area, taking in the storage metropolis dyed an almost malevolent purple.

"Are you alright?" the Charmander asked, offering his hand to his fallen companion.

"Y-yeah," Riley answered. "The light just scared me a bit." He accepted his grasp, and the Charmander pulled him up. "I mean, I was expecting a glow, but not a cataclysmic event."

"The warping orbs tend to do that. I couldn't tell you why, though," Pyro said, looking back to the beacon of light. Out of it emerged the remaining hellspawn, the flower nymph, and the gates closed behind her. The light suddenly and magnificently seemed to freeze and then retract back into the glass orb. Soon, the blinding light was gone, and not even the lavender glint remained inside the sphere. It was powerless.

Just as the Charmander had done, immediately she looked around herself to get the gist of her surroundings. Boxes. The furnace behind her. Her two allies standing a few feet away. The fact that she was a good six or seven feet from the ground. Gently swaying lights. Stunning silence. After a second, she returned her attention to the boys. "Well?" she said. "You found something, didn't you?"

"Aye," Riley answered. He passed the two of them, stood in front of the furnace, and snatched two of the half-gilded coins. "Take a look for yourselves." He opened his palm and extend towards them.

"I'll be damned," she muttered. Her beady black eyes focused in on the coin, a flat stone cylinder made of stone and partially covered in melted gold foil. It was still sloppy, but it was a vast improvement to the coin that had been included in the job request. She snapped her gaze back to Riley, startling him somewhat. "Where did you find these?"

"Right here," he answered her. "They must've left it out, or something."

"Impossible," Pyro said. "They couldn't be _that_ careless, could they?" Rose, agreeing with him, began to look around her once again. A second glance revealed nothing new, but it did not quell her paranoia.

"I don't know what to tell you," the Riolu shrugged. "I just caught a glimpse of it a few minutes ago. It was right here, I tell you."

"I can see that," Rose murmured. "Is there anything else up on top?"

Riley gave the roof of the furnace another look. "A cup, a needle, some golden foil, and a mold for the coins."

"Grab it all," she instructed. "The furnace itself may hold some clues, but it's not something we can easily take out of here ourselves. Although…" She paused mid-sentence and walked the visible perimeter of the furnace, looking for anything peculiar, and found nothing of the sort. "Nevermind. Just take what's on top."

"Got it." Riley reached over and grasped the mold brick first, placing that carefully at the bottom of his bag, and then the stack of gold foil on top of that. Pyro came up behind him and took the cup and needle for himself, placing that into his own bag. The jackal nodded a small _thanks_ to him.

The Roselia closed her eyes and inflated her lungs. Air left her with a shudder. She did not retract into her noble poise for a bit longer. She turned around to the other two and told them, her voice loose, "We need to be a bit cautious when we go out there. We might be ambushed when we go outside."

"I'll be ready," Riley nodded.

"Likewise," Pyro agreed.

"The plan is simple," she continued. "Present some of the coins to Sableye, report where they came from, and see how he reacts. I'll handle it from there. If he plays dumb, show him the mold. Any objections?"

"Seems pretty standard to me," the Charmander said. Riley, nodding his head in approval, swept his arm across the top of the furnace and collected the remains of the false coins. He handed a few to the salamander, who tucked two in his bag and kept one in a loosely-clenched fist. "Though, I noticed there that you didn't say anything about heading to the barracks to request for support."

She shot the Charmander a harsh glare, "Be- _cause_ , I think we're capable of making an arrest on our own," Rose answered. "The credit might get split if we take someone else with us, and we don't need the help anyways, right? We're pretty decently leveled, and Riley shouldn't be _too_ far behind now."

"I-I wasn't _objecting_ , per say," Pyro defended himself. "I was merely… clarifying."

"If something goes wrong, we can light up an Escape Orb as a beacon and throw it outside. We'll have backup in minutes," Rose assured.

"Then what're we standing around for?" Riley piped in. "Sableye won't be there all day. C'mon, let's _go!_ " _The sooner I can get home, the better_ , he thought, but dared not to say.

…

They had not been ambushed outside the warehouse, to the suppressed surprise of the party. No one was outside on the dirt path, or in the surrounding trees, or hanging above them, or lurking behind them. It was just the three of them in the sunlight of the early afternoon, looking around cautiously, before looking back to one another and pressing onward.

The eyes of a few employees met theirs, giving them a quizzical glance as they passed by, as their bodies continued on with their work. A Vigoroth stood tall as he walked by them, his paws coated in a layer of filth, and Riley noticed his head turn just so slightly towards them during the single second that they were next to each other. He did his best not to noticeably turn back, but he did reflexively cocking his ear to listen to his footprints walk away. It was slower at first, as the Normal-type dragged behind for but a moment, before quickly picking up again and continuing further down the path.

Pyro pushed the doors open and held it for the others. Riley gave him a nod. Rose gave him nothing, once again surrounded in her pompous, noble persona, as if it was by the very forces of nature that bent to her whim to open the door for her. Her black eyes focused in on the old Kecleon behind the counter, and refused to move them as she pressed forward.

"Excuse me," she called to the Normal-type. "We'd like to talk to Sableye."

The Kecleon smiled and dragged his gaze across the three of them. "Did you find what you were looking for?" he asked.

"The case was a lot simpler than we originally thought," she answered. Her expression had not changed, but her voice had become a bit quieter, a bit more modest. "Regulations say we have to briefly talk to Sableye, and then we'll be on our way."

"Alright, I'll fetch him for you," Kecleon walked slowly to the back room, and called out yet again, "Sableye! The kids came to talk to you again!"

Sableye's footsteps were a bit slower this time as he made his way down the staircase and into the front room. "I take it you didn't find anything?" he asked confidently as he approached the group.

"I wouldn't say ' _anything_ ,'" Rose said, feigning to be coy. "There was a little something that we think you should know about."

"Well, show me, then," Sableye smirked a bit condescendingly, as though he was humoring a child's make-believe.

The Roselia turned her head back to the salamander. The pompous air about her swelled with vitality as her beady eyes, along with a subtle nod, delivered to him a message: _now_. Pyro returned an equally subtle nod and flicked his arm forward. The half-gilded coin flew out from between his fingers and towards Sableye. He reached out and attempt to catch it, missed the first time as it bounced off his knuckle, and then snatched it on the rebound and held it. His gem-like eyes glistened as he looked the coin over, "Where did you get this?"

"It seems that we found a handful of these half-completed fake coins in your warehouse," she explained with a tone as if she were holding his hand through the process. "There were a few other things that went along with it, too. Strange, isn't it? Care to explain?" The Roselia raised her red flower to accusingly aim at the Sableye.

He returned her gaze with a scowl, "The fuck is going on here?! I've never seen this coin in my life! If this is some trick…" the Kecleon, who was watching silently by the doorway before, was suddenly out of sight, having slipped away rather stealthily for someone of his age.

"No tricks, from either of us," she said. A cocky yet still regal smile formed on her lips. "If you've never seen this coin before, then you're getting far too upset. That's not a convincing defense you offered there. Will you try again, or continue denying?" Her heart was starting to race in her chest. In her head she could hear that chiptune music from the pixelated courtroom drama.

Sableye looked back towards the back room, where the Kecleon should have been standing. Then, with a click of his tongue, he pivoted around and sprinted for the staircase. From the Roselia's flower a cloud of Stun Spores rushed out from between the petals, chasing after the imp, but the Dark-type just managed to evade its effects. The potency of the cloud began to unfold and plume out, becoming nothing more than shimmering gold dust.

Pyro clenched his jaw and began sprinting after him, and Riley was right beside him. They held their breaths through it, but the Roselia was immune to its effects, so as she raced behind them she could smell the scent of old pennies thinning out through the air.

By the time they were halfway up the stairs, Sableye had already surpassed the top. He slowed down and cupped his hands around his mouth. "Scatter!" he screamed. "They've found us out!" A mere five words were all he gave to the handful of employees on this floor. If they could not understand him, they were to be left behind. If they did not drop everything and run that very second, it would be their own fault. There would be no sympathy. The employees knew that, and they started to run. A clipboard slipped from a Heatmor's claws and clattered on the floor, and a Crustle shook off a bin of berries from atop his block of earth, and the two began to flee in opposing directions.

"Damn it," Rose hissed. She stopped abruptly and aimed her flower at the Crustle. Thorny tendrils shot out from the petals. They dug into the stone and wrapped around the crab's legs, sapping the life out of him. He looked over to the Heatmor, who shoved a window open and leapt into the open air. "We can't let them all get away!" she screamed. "Pyro, come here. Riley, you keep-"

"On it," Riley shouted back. He kicked off the floor with a Quick Attack. A white trail of light marked the path where his feet had been as he darted across the floor. Sableye rushed up the stairs, and the Riolu was close behind.

The Charmander ran, slightly slower than the sprint, over to the Roselia, who held the rapidly-weakening Crustle in her Giga Drain. "Whadya need?" he asked her.

"This entire place is about to be evacuated. We need to head out and try to intercept as many as we can," she instructed. With her other flower, another shimmering golden cloud jetted out and swarmed around Crustle.

"Yes ma'am," Pyro replied. He bolted towards the window Heatmor disappeared through and began to climb down the wall.

Sableye reached the next floor, cupping one hand around his mouth. "Get outta here! Go!" he roared. A Nuzleaf and an Archeops heard his mere four words, and they were granted no more. As the Riolu rushed up the stairs after Sableye, his Explorer's bag brandishing Gallade's sigil pulled behind him, the few employees understood, dropped what they held, and made for the windows. Riley did not care. His job, what brought him out here, was the imp, and he had to catch him.

The Fighting-type used another Quick attack when he reached the base of the stairs, closing the gap between him and Sableye. "Go! Now!" was all he gave to this next floor. The meaning of his words was only clear when Riley came tailing behind him a mere second later. If he had chosen to do so, Riley had reached a speed where he could have snuck up on the shocked employees, this time a Cinccino and a Monferno, and apprehended them. But he would not. Riley ceased to be an Explorer upon reaching that floor. The rest of the world vanished before him, and it was just him and Sableye in this chase. Around his neck, the otherworldly red scarf enveloped him with a comforting, loving warmth.

It was a close chase as Sableye bolted from one floor to another. His warnings got shorter and shorter, and the falls the employees became harder and harder. Not all of them jumped. Some noticed that the single Guildmember they could see was running past them, and decided to take the risk and just run down the stairs.

He gave his warning to the sixth floor, and Riley, lurching forward with yet another Quick Attack, reached out to grasp the Sableye, only to feel the tips of his fingers brush against the back of the Dark-type's back. There was only one floor left, Sableye realized. Two more Pokemon, at most, that could potentially be captured if they didn't catch on to what was already going on. That was affordable.

Sableye suddenly pivoted and took a sharp right, breaking his usual path from stairway to stairway. Riley had been barreling forward and, upon seeing his target turn in front of him, staggered and skidded as he changed his momentum. Just like all the other employees, Sableye darted towards one of the windows. He pushed it open, jumped on the windowsill, and leapt out of the tower. Riley did not hesitate to follow him. He's fallen off a cliff, after all.

The Riolu took off into the open air assaulted by the bright sunlight and the open landscape. A Nuzleaf hobbled into the forest far behind the Heatmor, whose spark-littered breath shone between the leaves of the trees. Of course, Riley did not care. He watched the Sableye plummet, tumble onto the grass, and head straight into the woods. He mimicked his motions exactly, down to the specifics of how Sableye rolled onto the floor by rolling and springing into motion, but as he emerged back on his feet, Riley could not see Sableye anymore.

Between him and his prey there was the Vigoroth, leaping through the air with his arms above his head. Riley panicked and ducked down just as four black claws slashed at where he had just been, and the Vigoroth passed by overhead. He looked back, giving the Normal-type a quick glance to see the monkey picking himself up again, but Riley remembered upon hearing the rustling bushes that this Vigoroth wasn't his main target. The Riolu looked back to Sableye and began to-

Vigoroth rushed him from behind, jumping on top of him and tackling the Riolu to the ground. With one arm he pinned Riley's neck while the other raised up high and swung downward, leaving two parallel cuts down the Riolu's back. He howled in pain. Sableye slowed down for a moment and turned around, shocked to see his employee allowing him to escape. He clicked his tongue. A few incomplete thoughts spun about in his head, both mocking and grateful, and gave the foolish Vigoroth nothing more as he picked up his pace and began to run further.

With his fangs bared, Riley kicked back into Vigoroth's stomach, forcing his attacker to stumble back and relinquish his grip on his neck. He jumped to his feet and spun around, swinging a Brick Break into Vigoroth's chin. The Normal-type groaned and sprawled out on the floor.

"I don't have time for this," he scowled. The Riolu turned back to the the forest, where Sableye's silhouette was growing smaller and smaller amongst the underbrush. He broke into a sprint and began to pursue him, weaving through trees and bushes. Rays of sunlight shone through the leaves, shifting and reforming as a weak breeze shook them. Behind him the trees trembled in violent pulses, getting harder and harder by the second. No. Riley knew this was wrong. Something from the back of his mind, an unknown entity sitting on his shoulder, told him that it was that persistent Vigoroth, swinging from the trees and gaining on him quickly.

Riley dug his foot into the dirt and pivoted around, glaring at the Normal-type that jumped through the air and hurled towards him. He brandished his palm as aura swelled up in his hand, and he shot a Force Palm into his pursuer's gut. The eldritch blue energy pulsed into and around his abdomen, consuming him with a brief but agonizing cold burn, but it did not stop him, and his body tackled Riley into the thick grass, holding him there with his sheer size.

Only through a dim light, tainted with green by the plant life that was pressed against him, could he see the shivering, struggling Vigoroth against him. The monkey raised its left arm and brought it down, raking its twin claws across the Riolu's face. Two shallow cuts formed along the side of the jackal's head and scratched along the bone. Vigoroth raised his other hand, but it wouldn't go past the height of his shoulder, and Riley brought his own arm up to block the attack.

The Riolu growled and jabbed his other fist into the monkey's chest. Muscle and fur rippled and shook, and the weight over him became less force and more raw. No longer was he pinned but now squished as the Vigoroth, still shivering, fell limply over him. It came to Riley that his attack had paralyzed his opponent, and the ape was merely acting as a sandbag to slow him down. This injured monkey was trying to interfere with his job, with something he had no right to be apart of. With his fangs bared, Riley cocked back his palm yet again. A stream of aura rushed around him and pooled around his paw, and swept up in its current Riley crashed it into Vigoroth's jaw. For but a moment, he could feel and hear bones cracking, and then Vigoroth was off him and sprawled out on the grass.

Without giving him a second look, Riley kicked off the dirt with a Quick Attack and broke into a sprint. Sableye was no longer there. The leaves no longer rustled, and the silhouette of the imp had vanished into the thickening woods. He could not feel him anywhere nearby. That ape had gotten between him and his target, and succeeded in prying his target from the scene entirely.

"You…!" Riley glared at the shape of the Vigoroth, whose chest heaved as he took heavy shuddering breaths. He stormed back over to him, fueled by hate from the very sound of his breathing. "I almost _had_ that little gem goblin," he scowled.

The Vigoroth formed a painful, disjointed grin as he looked up at the kid. "'Almost,'" the Normal-type taunted.

"Keep talkin'," Riley permitted. "If you can get some enjoyment out of this, by all means, do it. You'll need something when you get locked up."

…

There were six arrests made at Sableye's Storage that day, with nine employees managing to escape. Such a ratio was not desirable, but those nine had been accounted for, so the handful of Pokemon that had escaped were being put on wanted posters as the party left Churchwell's barracks. The rest would be hunted down eventually. With their job finished, earlier than they had expected no less, they returned to Treasure Town on the back of the very same Rapidash. It was a mostly silent celebration. Riley still waved his hands over Rapidash's flaming tail, Pyro still sat in the front taking the heat from her mane, and Rose sat between them brooding. Perhaps it was unintentional, but the boys did all they could to ignore it. Or, pretend to ignore it.

She dropped them off in the town square, where Treasure Town's most impressive structures resided. The clock tower over them read that it was just past five. Again Riley stretched himself with a series of pops, as if by reflex, and smiled upon the sight of his town. "I didn't think I'd be back so soon," he said, smiling faintly. "Glad to be home."

"That it is," Pyro agreed. "I wonder what Gallade will say."

Riley looked back to them, smiling, but seeing the Roselia's glum expression wiped it off his face and the words off his tongue. She absently walked forward, head tilted down, and gave Riley a fleeting glance to stave off his enthusiasm. Unintentionally, she had simultaneously invited curiosity. "Is something wrong?" he asked her.

She looked away. As her head turned, Riley caught the beginning of a twitch in her eye, a flick of the switch, that Rose caught and held still by sheer will. In the back of his head something nudged Riley to the realization that she was forcing her sullen face. The Charmander walked up to him and put his hand on the Riolu's shoulder. He looked back to the Grass-type with both sympathy and apathy. "She's fine," he answered for her. "From the time to time, she can get like this."

"Are you sure?" Riley asked him.

"Give her a bit," he suggested. The Fire-type briefly looked back to her, sincere melancholy in his deep blue eyes. "Take the rest of the evening off. By tomorrow, or tonight, things'll be alright again."

"Yeah, but-"

"There's not much we can do," Pyro stressed in a whisper. His grip on Riley's shoulder grew tighter, almost digging into his skin. "Just…" He shook his head and let go. "I'm going to go restock on a handful of things. I'll be back at the Guild by dinner." Pyro looked between his partners, nodded to himself, and then left for the shops. He struggled to not look back.

Riley turned around, uncertain and uncomfortable, when he felt the gentle, soft touch of petals on his back. Rose asked him in a low, soothing voice, "Can we talk?"

…

Great gears clunked and rotated in the interior of the clock tower in loud, rhythmic clicks all around them as the machinery kept time. The clock tower was owned and maintained by the Guild, so it only received a brief inspection each morning, and then would remain unchecked for the remainder of the day. Since only Guildmembers were allowed inside, save for a few outliers, from time to time it would act as a meeting place for some special occasions. This was no special occasion, but Rose picked it regardless.

They were high up on the roof, some hundred and fifty feet above the ground, and well above the rest of Treasure Town. Riley could pull himself above the railing and look around for miles at the small city and the grassy hills around it. He chose not to.

"Sorry to do this to you," she said. "I just… I need to finally get this off my chest."

"It's fine. I get it," he replied. "At least I think I do. You wanna rant for a bit, don't you?"

"Yes." She leaned against a small shed on top of the roof, where a single door lead into the long staircase leading all the way back down to the base of the tower. Golden sunlight from the evening sun consumed the flower nymph's body in an amber glow, and Riley's blue fur into a tranquil green. "You didn't remember anything about being human, did you?" she asked him

"No. Not yet," Riley answered her.

"Weird," she said. "Then some things I might say will fall on deaf ears. You don't mind, do you?" He merely shook his head. Lending his ears, deaf or not, was the least he could do. "Good. Thank you in advance for this, by the way."

"Don't worry about it," Riley dismissed.

The Roselia's small frame inflated as she took a deep breath. "There was a game I used to play," she stated. "A handful of them, actually, but this one had you playing as a defense attorney who had to prove his clients' innocence in court. It's a puzzle game. You have to cross-examine witnesses and present your evidence to unveil an emotional, and admittedly goofy, story. I love the games. Interrogating today reminded me of it all, and… and how long it's been since I've played it. Over a year and a half since I've even had the chance, and it's probably been a year more since I last picked it up. It… I get a bit homesick."

"It's only natural," Riley concurred, nodding his head absently.

"You brought it up last time, how it feels to be so short," she continued. "I hate it. Hatred brings nothing productive, and I try to forget about it, but now and then I'll remember, and I'll start to _hate_ what I am. I'm smaller than everyone around me, I've got small venomous thorns on me… I don't even have fucking _fingers_ ," the Roselia spat. Her voice began to quiver. "I just want to go home," she said. "There's nothing I can do about it. Wanting alone will achieve nothing. I _know_ this. Knowing doesn't make anything better."

Riley opened his mouth and began to speak words that were not his own. The sentence came completed in thought and tone and even pitch as if he were just a medium used to translate the message into a form that the Roselia could comprehend. "Don't bother getting worked up about how you feel. Self-pity only breeds more pity until you pull yourself out," Riley said, more shocked than who he said it to. "Cry all you want. It's nothing to be ashamed of, so long as you eventually wipe them away and work to move past it."

These words, he knew for a fact, were not his own, but rather came to him in a memory. They came from his older brother, by eight years, on a day whose details he did not remember too well. Riley remembered fear and he remembered anger, and from their meeting it had caused tears as he huddled in the depths of his closet under a ratty wool blanket. It was unclear what he was hiding from, but in his mind it had manifested as a reverberating roar and rumble, like a freight train were passing by on the other side of the wall. He heard his closet door rattle open, and the wool veil was removed from Riley. There in the dim light stood a figure, and though Riley could not remember what its face looked like, he knew for a fact that it was his brother. _What're you doing all the way in here?_ his brother had asked. Riley bitterly turned away and wiped his eyes. His brother laughed. _C'mon now, you're not fooling anyone, buddy._ The boy's answer came to him clearly, and Riley nearly said it aloud by accident. _I hate it here_ , he had said. _I hate being powerless to do anything. I…_ His emotions betrayed him, and his tears suppressed his speech as Riley felt himself start to choke. Beyond the walls the rumbling grew fiercer, and the boy curled himself tighter into a ball. The figure of his brother turned towards the noise, growled lowly, then put on a smile and gently patted the boy on the head, and he said what Riley had instinctively repeated to Rose. The boy tilted his head up and looked at the figure of his brother. _You're not powerless, Riley. You can have just as much strength as you think you do_. A smile formed on the figure's face, and he reached a hand down to the boy, but it abruptly froze halfway between them.

The sound of static suddenly burst out of the figure's mouth as a swarm of black particles burst out of it. They consumed and covered his face, and then his body, and then the closet was filled with them. No longer was there a dim light coming in from his room, but it was ravenous, writhing darkness that bound and oppressed the boy. The memory would not progress beyond that point, and he could obtain nothing else from the short twenty seconds. Merely his brother comforting him, the darkness of his closet, a short dialogue, and the roaring that quaked him.

"I know that. Deep down I do, at least," Rose replied to him. Riley jolted back into this reality, a shiver running down his spine. "This isn't the end of anything. I'm not gonna just sit here drowning in… 'self-pity,' as you put it. It's just… This is the first time I've had the chance to not stew in it alone, y'know? You're the closest thing I have to a therapist. And God damn it, I kinda need one right now."

"Then go on. Rant to your heart's desire," Riley urged her. "Today only, it's free of charge." He pushed the short memory to the back of his mind for now. Interesting though it might have been, there was nothing for him to take from it other than his brother.

"Heh. I'll take you up on that," she said. An earnest smile flashed on her face, and then wilted away into something wistful and longing. "I used to draw a lot when I was human. It was partially my job, actually. We needed the money, so I did some freelancing and commissions, and things like that. It's what I miss the most, really. I'd kill to hold a pen again. Do you know what I can do with these petals? Tickle, and not much else. Surprisingly, petals weren't designed for dexterous, versatile purposes. They just look pretty."

"You could use them as a brush," Riley suggested. "Did you ever try painting?"

"Once. I don't have nearly as much control, and I actually have nerves in these things. It feels… _weird_. It's like some ungodly hybrid of finger-painting and painting with my hair, if that makes any sense." It didn't, but Riley nodded anyways. "One of these days, I'll be desperate enough to give it a shot, but until then… I don't know. I guess, I'll just keep living." A second of silence passed, and then another, and then a few more until she looked back up to her unqualified therapist, confused.

"Is that all?" Riley asked her. "You probably won't get another shot like this anytime soon."

Rose thought for a moment, resting her chin in a nest of red petals, before ripping herself away and returning her attention to the Riolu. "It's all I have to say about myself, anyways," she said. "There is something else I want to finally say. It's nowhere near as serious, but it's still important. Do you know where we are?"

"Treasure Town," he answered.

"Yes, but where is this?" she posed him. "I've seen maps of the world, and they look _nothing_ like the Earth I remember. The continents are all wrong, and it looks to be noticeably smaller."

"So, what? We're on another planet?" Riley asked.

Rose popped a smile. "That's what _I_ thought for a little while. But, look around you. There are a bunch of little things, like the kind of devices and craftsmanship we use. There's knives and cauldrons, and brick buildings, and the windmills in Wrytsberg- Kirlia even has a dagger, for fuck's sake!" She paused for a second to catch her breath. "You could chalk that up to products of a sentient mind. After all, things like wagons would naturally be made when you have the issue of transporting goods, or masonry when you need reliable buildings. But, here's where it gets tricky: apples."

"Apples?"

"Apples."

"I… don't follow," Riley admitted.

"If this was some other world out there, it wouldn't make sense that much of the flora is nearly identical to what we knew. There's a whole new assortment of berries, but there's also onions, and lemons, and potatoes, and carrots, and ginger, and mint. The trees, too. Oaks, pines, everything in between… If this was supposed to be some fantasy world, why is everything the same? Why doesn't this all make any damned sense?!"

Her unqualified therapist had fallen into silence. No longer was he grasping at the faintest straws he could find, throwing hopefully comforting words to her, or repeating his memories. All that had been forgotten. He stood there, stunned, as she explained the world around them in a way that made it feel simultaneously more and less foreign to him.

"And _we're_ the weirdest part of this whole thing, Riley. Us, the Pokemon," she continued. "This entire world would be a scientist's nightmare. Or, maybe a wet dream. It would throw everything we know about life out the window. For example, me. What advantage would I gain by having flowers on the end of my arms? The only answer I can think of would be that they're a catalyst for my moves (I'll be getting to that, just hold on), but that would seem to say that this is a world that grew due to fighting. And it is. The mere existence of types proves that, and don't even get me _started_ on levels. And I'm only the _start_ of this chain of nonsense. I'll do you a favor and slide right to the bottom: fire and electricity. Pyro, a Charmander, constantly has a flame on the end of his tail. Fire. Hot, energy-filled fire. Not only that, but he can breathe the stuff like a dragon. The kind of energy needed to be able to produce that kind of stuff on a whim is unbelievable. Electricity is even worse. That's even more energy, even more heat, that's generated and unleashed. The more powerful attacks that just straight-up conjure lightning? That's plasma! Materials that are heated up _so_ much that they aren't even gasses anymore! _Where_ does the energy for all this come from?! Do physics even still apply?!"

Rose's chest heaved in and out from the breaths she stole. Still she wore her smile, getting bigger with each passing sentence. Perhaps a part of it reached Riley deep within, for he found himself wondering if she breathed oxygen or carbon dioxide.

"What gets me thinking the most is, again, _us_. If this was some other world, then why does _every_ Pokemon out there look like something from the human world? Canines like you, reptiles like Pyro, plants like me, humanoids like Gallade, et cetera et cetera. And let's not forget, Pokemon is a colossal franchise in our world. The mere existence of this place is… impossible." She shook her head and began to laugh, quickly becoming more stable. "It's gotten to the point that the most logical explanation is that this is all just some weird fever dream, but that isn't as satisfying. If it is, making sense of it at least passes the time until I wake up."

The Roselia turned her head back to Riley. "I think I'm done now," she stated. "Holy _fuck_ , it feels good to finally say this to someone. Nineteen months now, I've been silent."

"R… Right," Riley stammered.

"I didn't overwhelm you, did I?"

"Yeah, you kinda did. I don't know what's real anymore," he admitted.

Rose chuckled. "I'll give this world one thing. Real or not, fingers or not, it can still be a hell of a lot of fun," she said. The Riolu nodded in agreement. "Like you said, wipe away your tears and do something productive. Ain't that right?"

"That it is."

"Great. Now, forget everything I just said, and for the love of everything you hold dear, _don't_ bring any of it up to anyone."

"I know the drill."

They reentered the clock tower, surrounded with the great mechanical _clunks_ and _clicks_ , and then emerged back into the streets without the faintest bit of attention. It was all standard from there. They returned to the Guild, reunited with a certain Charmander delighted to see Rose's smile again, ate their dinner together, (some kind of ground steak and cooked carrots, a cup of water, and a roasted apple for dessert), and then returned to their room. They talked for a little while, played a few games of cards, and then dozed off when the plates above their heads dimmed.

Riley went to sleep without telling her of his newly found memory. Nineteen months of pent-up emotions and findings vastly overshadowed a brief, vague clip of a kind entity he could only name as his brother, and he didn't see the need to tell her after it was all done. He decided, his head then upon the plush pile of hay that was his bed, that he would wait for more details to unveil themselves before he would confess that he had remembered something. Until that time would come, he would resume life as he had known it for his short life.


	22. Chapter 22: The Graceful Beast

The scent of salt hung in the misty air at Port Llaffan that late morning. Ships of varying sizes, caravels to barges, wood to metal, sailed in and out of the bay day after day. It was undoubtedly the greatest place for foreign goods or intercontinental travel west of the Sawtooth Mountains, but not all of it was specifically legal. To protect their products, the sailors had to be strong, and they had to be vigilant. Foreign goods were valuable, and even just a handful could feed a family for ten days. Nothing would be tolerated.

So it was no surprise to the townsfolk when a dozen or so of these sailors, their rugged voices shouting obscenities that muddied the others' words into an angry rabbling, hurled a Greninja on his ass in the middle of one of Port Llaffan's main intersections. The Water-type landed hard on his ass and let out a cry of pain. Tears formed in his eyes as the sailors circled around him like a pack of wolves, leaving no room for escape. They were big, burly Pokemon that seemed to be made for their jobs.

"F-fellas, please," the Greninja begged. He held his hands in front of his face to construct an imaginary barrier between him and them. "It was an accident. I swear- I didn't mean it."

"Sure ya didn't," snickered a Machoke, crossing his arms and peering down his snout at the perpetrator.

"Are we supposed to believe you just _woke up_ below deck?" asked a menacing Nidoqueen. Her heavy tail swayed behind her, stirring the air like a blade on a wind turbine.

" _Yes_ ," the Greninja insisted. "I don't know how, but- but it happened. I just- everything's fuzzy before I woke up. There was this guy- big, and… and furry… Then it went dark. Next thing I know, you lot are trying to _kill_ me!"

"That's a load of shit if I've ever smelled one," spat a Rhydon. "Let's stop wasting time and just teach him a lesson already." His drill horn whirred and spun in two rapid flashes. The Greninja crawled backwards a few steps away from him with his eyes agape and the tongue around his neck loosely falling upon the ground.

"Stowaways will not be tolerated. Our ship isn't your personal carriage," sneered a Pangoro, baring his fangs at the Greninja.

"No. Please, _no_. You don't understand," the Water-type pleaded.

"It's seafaring law," shouted the voice of Golduck, seemingly at the head of this circle. A black hat perched on his head marked him as this crew's captain. "Anyone who travels on the ship must either work or pay. You've broken this law, and so you must be punished."

"Hold it, captain," interrupted another member of the circle. All eyes moved to see a second Greninja standing there, between the Nidoqueen and the Pangoro. In every visible way this second Greninja was identical to the first. The fins on his head, the webbing on his hands and feet, the white plates over his elbows and neck, even his height with his legs fully stretched out- the only difference was that the second one wasn't pathetically crying on the ground. "I believe you'd like to see this. I found it on the way here." The second Greninja pulled out a folded paper square and flicked his wrist, throwing it to the Golduck. He caught it reflexively and proceeded to pry it open to let its secrets spill out.

The captain was met with a wanted poster issued by the guild, as issued by their signature format. _Wanted: Alive_ was written in bold black text at the top of the page, resting upon a picture captured of a Greninja; the very same as the frog who lay in a puddle of his own tears. It was almost jarring to see the photo side-by-side with the pitiful creature, as the one captured on parchment had this cocky, almost dashing grin etched onto his face. He looked straight into the lense that caught him, holding out his hand towards the audience as he offered them the rose of pure black that lay on his palm like a pedestal. The moon was at his back, bathing him in the pale glow. One would think that this had been planned and posed if not for the tip of a Leaf Blade cutting into the edge of the frame on the right from his hunters. Below the photo was this criminal's name, and below that, the reward: _Festuum "The Carnival", Greninja. 250,000 Poke_.

"Two fifty-" Golduck clenched his fist, crumpling the poster in the process, and stared at the pitiful display of a criminal before him. The captain beamed. "Well, lookie here. A fortune just walked into our midst. It's The Carnival, boys."

"But, wait," said the Machoke. "Who's the second one?"

"Doesn't matter," Nidoqueen replied. Her tail bashed into the back of the second Greninja, batting him into the center of the circle and on top of the other. The first Greninja cried out in pain as the weight pushed down on his stomach. "We can just turn them both-"

A small cloud of smoke coated the body of the second Greninja, putting the sailors on guard. As it quickly cleared, the scene showed that the first Greninja was pinned underneath a neatly cut log with only a faint indentation on it. The remaining Water-type grunted and groaned as he tried in vain to push the wood off of him.

Golduck laughed. "Isn't that just sad," he mocked. "What, did you think you'd intimidate us with your bounty? Fat chance. Boys, bring h-"

The Greninja could no longer hold the weight of the log, and it crashed down on his stomach. His eyes bulged out of his head as he unleashed a silent roar, the air rushing out of his body, and just like the other, was consumed in a faint cloud of smoke. Two logs rolled out of the cloud, and the sailors could do nothing but stare at the remains of the Substitutes.

"And you called _me_ sad," came a voice from the rooftops. The sailors turned their eyes to see the Greninja standing upon a simple two-story home with his arms folded and his body propped up against the chimney. Just as in the poster he had on his signature cocky, dashing smile. "Fooled by an act I thought up in mere seconds. How does it feel to know that you were outsmarted by puppets?"

"The hell do you mean, 'outsmarted'? You're still right in front of us," said the captain. His sailors began to break their circle and moved briskly, but not going so far as to run, to surround the Greninja. "And now that I think about it, that _is_ weird. Do you have some sort of business with me, or do you just enjoy taunting?"

"I can't deny the latter, but I've no business with you," the Greninja answered. "You were only my ride here to Llaffan. I'd be grateful to you, but the conditions down there were _really_ cramped. It's a health hazard. If they weren't as flexible as I, they might dislocate something. So… That's technically business. Huh. Guess I lied."

"The poster says _alive_ , but do you think they'd mind if we shut him up? Rip out his tongue?" Machoke suggested.

"I think we ought to just to spare ourselves," Pangoro grumbled.

"Wow, you've one of the _worst_ company policies I've ever experienced," the Greninja scolded. "I was thinking of just giving you a bad review, but I've half the mind to _report_ you for this."

"Now I'd like to see that," Golduck beamed. " _Festuum_ strolling up to the authorities, complaining about the knot in his back, only to be promptly captured and punished for your crimes."

"What did I do to you to make you want to see me incarcerated?" the Greninja asked.

"The price on your head," the Captain answered. "You've enough funds to feed a town for half a year."

"'The price on my head' is not an action, it's an economic concept. I cannot _do_ an economic concept. Now, if it's the actions I _did_ to have that concept apply to me, that's an acceptable answer, but you didn't say that," he lectured. "Your greed has blinded you. Have you not thought for a moment just _what_ would give me such a bounty?"

"Just keep bluffin'," dared Rhydon. "Everyone knows you're just a thief."

"Okay then." The Greninja uncrossed his arms and held his palms out in front of him, as if to erect a barrier to keep them at bay. "I _really_ don't like the hostility I'm sensing here, so I think I'm just gonna scram. Your company needs to work on its atmosphere and hospitality."

"What, so soon? But we barely got started!" taunted Golduck.

"Sorry, sweeties. I have my own things to do. But fear not! I'll be back one day! Wait for me!" The Greninja kissed the palm of his hand and aimed it at the other Water-type. He winked and blew the kiss to Golduck, only for out of his mouth to spew a thick black cloud. It compounded more and more upon itself, engulfing the Greninja and growing to consume the entire rooftop he stood on. The sailors carefully watched the outline of the Smokescreen, waiting in anticipation for the bounty to start fleeing. But before they knew what was happening, a swarm of Greninjas in identical form burst out in all directions, deftly leaping from the rooftops with a faint trail of smoke that they had dragged behind them.

"What the-?!" Golduck frantically spun around, studying from one Double Team to the other, but he could see no discernable difference. "Damn it. Split up!" he growled through his teeth. "We aren't letting him get away!" The group of sailors divided amongst themselves and rushed down the streets, chasing down one of the plethora of illusions.

The Greninja shimmied down the chimney, collecting soot along the bricks with his damp skin, and crawled out of the bottom and through the fireplace into the interior of the simple one-story home. Next to the fireplace was a basic kitchen armed with only a stove, an oven, and a few drawers underneath a wooden countertop, and a rectangular table hosted four wicker chairs around it. There were only two doors: one in the corner that lead outside, and one on the opposite wall that lead into presumably the bedroom. It had to be, for the only other bed was tucked in the corner and was barely big enough for a grown Pokemon. This was evident by a figure lying upon it with its feet hanging off the end of the bed.

Upon seeing the Greninja stand up, the figure rolled out of the bed and stood to meet him. The bipedal figure was draped in a ratty, thin cloak, and in the light filtering in from the window, one could see the cloth wrappings that bound its face. They were matted with dirt and stains of God knows what, and not a single square inch of skin was shown save for his left eye.

"Finally finished, are you?" the figure asked in his rough, low voice. He began to walk towards the Water-type, and although his feet were not visible, one could clearly hear something hard smacking against the stone floors.

"I didn't keep you waiting, did I?" Festuum asked. "I was trying to milk all the fun out of that lot as I could, but they weren't biting as much as I'd hoped."

"It's fine. Laying down gave me an opportunity to get that knot out of my back." The figure bent backwards, twisting slightly as his spine popped a thousand times, like firecrackers in a wooden crate. "Thanks for that, by the way. I don't know how I'd have gotten out of there on my own."

"Don't mention it. Anything to see you again." The Greninja placed his hand on the figure's shoulder and slithered it so the frog held him in a sort of half-hug. This action made the apparent height difference between them even more prominent, as the figure held over a foot on his friend. "This is a call for celebration. I need no 'thank you'. Get that shit _out_ of here. The Markus I know doesn't give out 'thank yous'. Come- we're gonna drink until we're bleeding wine. Spill out all our findings to each other."

The cloth wrappings on Markus's face were pulled taut as he formed a smile underneath. "You've no idea how good that sounds," he grinned. "Where do you plan on stealing from?"

"Already got that taken care of." Festuum gestured underneath the guest bed where two gallon-sized barrels and a fancy green bottle between them. "I took that the night I got here. Premium stuff. Technically I stole it, but I left some coins where they were. Guilt-free."

"You left it here?" Markus asked. "What happened to the homeowners?"

"They went north to Churchwell, I think. I've been squatting here for three days waiting for you," Festuum said.

"Three days? And there's _still_ booze left?"

"Everyone knows that it's no fun drinking alone."

"Guess that's true," the figure shrugged. "So, what now? Wait for the sailors to give up, or make a run for it?"

"We should probably hang here. Maybe… about an hour or so," Festuum suggested.

"Great," Markus sighed. He staggered out of the half-hug and, pulling out one of the chairs at the table, collapsed into it. The figure pushed his arm out of the cloak, revealing that it too was bound in bandages, and placed a deck of cards on the table. "C'mon. We've got time to burn." His other hand pulled out a folded wooden board. Something inside it rattled as he flicked his wrist, unfolding it into one flat piece and placing it beside the deck.

A racetrack-like design circled around the board, from red to green to blue from the inside out. Several little divots marked each path, and there must have been over a hundred for each colored path. One line was clearly labeled _Start_ , and halfway around there was another line named _SS_. Three quarters of the way around was the third and final, labeled with one _S_ , and the latter two lines were mere pencil marks compared to the thick scrape that was the starting line. This, however, would be describing this board in its prime. Now spots of the painted track were missing, almost like it had decomposed. Much of the wood was covered in cuts, and the once perfect 90 degree edges were rounded after an unknown amount of years of weathering.

Festuum smiled and slid into the opposite chair. "Ah, a game of cribbage. It's been so long," he said. The Greninja wiped his damp hands on the table and reached for the deck of cards. He shuffled it flamboyantly, cards looping in the air like acrobats, until they formed orderly together into a mixed pile in each hand, and he clapped them together into one orderly deck. Markus removed a metal slot from the bottom of the board, spilling out three pegs of each of the track's color. The Greninja reached for two of the blues, and Markus two of the reds.

"I'll deal," Markus offered. He took the deck of cards and deftly tossed them like throwing stars, giving each of them six, and then smacked the deck in the middle of the track. The two both quickly took two of those cards from their hands and put them in a small pile beside Markus. Festuum grabbed the top half and lifted it up, and Markus took the top card from the bottom half and, after the Greninja put his half down, placed it on the deck face up. Nine of clubs.

"So, how was it?" Festuum asked. "Where'd you go? What did you see?" From his hand he put down a nine of spades.

"Fifteen." Markus dropped down a six of hearts on the table and put his red peg two points in front of the starting line. "I went to a few places overseas. Nothing on the Milada Islands. West in Baltre I found a few stories and wrote them down. Drew a few pictures."

"Twenty one." Festuum placed down a six of diamonds and put his peg next to the red one, two points in front of the line. "Interesting. I'll take a read later on and see what you got. Baltre is the only other remaining crown, so I imagine they've a lot going on to find out."

"Thirty one." With one hand Markus put down a ten of diamonds, whilst the other took his other peg and put it two points in front of the first red peg. "It was surprisingly rocky there. Lots of cliffs and swamps. If it weren't for rice crops they'd have starved out decades ago."

"Yeah. Not as colorful as the other places on the map," Festuum shrugged. He put down an ace of clubs. "I went there once. Can't imagine traveling around Baltre for months. Everything is so drab."

"When I hadn't found anything, I didn't hesitate to get the _fuck_ out of there." Markus put down an eight of hearts. Festuum put down a five of clubs, Markus the seven of the same suit, and then the cloaked one took the back red peg and put it one point in front of the other. "You know what's south of there?"

"Not off hand." The Greninja spread out his four cards, nine, six, five, ace, and pointed to the other nine that was the up card. "Fifteen two, four, six, eight, pair for ten." Festuum picked up the back peg and put it ten points in front of the other.

"Wildie land. You know, the big fuckin' island filled with all the Wildies," Markus answered. He spread his own cards in return - six, seven, eight, ten - and pointed to the up card. "Fifteen two, four, and a five card run for nine." Markus took his nine points, ending three ahead of his friend. He pushed his old cards towards Festuum and picked up the pile of discarded cards that had been made just after they had been dealt. "Fuck." In frustration he threw down his hand- an ace, a three, an eight and a queen of hearts. This queen had an elegant design of a Lopunny beautifully drawn onto both ends outlined in red. It was a profile portrait, and her desperate eyes looked in disbelief and perhaps awe to something outside the frame. "I got nothing."

Festuum laughed to himself and scooped up all the cards before beginning to shuffle once again. "That sucks. The hand, too, but I mean going to Wildie land. How'd that go?"

"Shitty. Nearly died more times than I can count," Markus muttered. "And _surprise, surprise,_ I didn't find anything. There went another two months."

"Damn. I'm glad it was you." Festuum started dealing out the deck. "Should've known you wouldn't find much, but we had to check everywhere we could."

"Yeah, I guess," Markus sighed. "After that I onl-"

The two were interrupted by the sharp noise of metal knocking against wood. Twice. Thrice. Four times. Five. Six. Silence. Markus looked to Festuum, only to see a confusion that mirrored his own. Had the sailors come back for them? Or did a friend of the homeowner come to see what was going on in the home? The window, although glazed with dirt, would allow them to see silhouettes moving at the table. Until the voice of the visitor came up, the possibilities spun around in their heads as they sat there, frozen in their seats. But that chilling sound carried through the air, sending shivers down their spines; sweet and terrible, like a madman's lullaby. "Hellooooooo? Is anyone home?" asked the visitor.

"Fuck." Markus's voice was barely even wind.

"Okay. Okay, don't panic," whispered Festuum. "I got this. I'll talk to him. You just run."

"Sounds good. You have what he wants, so I'll bail out of this," Markus concurred.

"Yes, I- wait, what? That's it?"

"What was I supposed to say?"

"I dunno. Maybe, 'No, don't do it! I couldn't live with myself!'" His voice broke out of his whisper into a low shout. "Or, 'I'll do it. I can't lose you, old friend. I was just beginning to give up anyways.'"

"How sappy do you think I am?" Markus spat.

"You're _supposed_ to be the badass who secretly has a heart of gold!"

"Tch. Gold is wasted on a heart."

"How cruel. I thought we were _friends_." The Greninja sunk his head and pouted. Banter was, thankfully, cut short by sharp tapping on the glass. They turned instantly to see the shadow-bathed face of a gaunt Bisharp pressed up against the filthy window. Flowers of rust bloomed on his jawline. One hand was by the side of his face, keeping a space between him and the glass, whilst the other tenderly waved the others. Whilst they couldn't see his eyes, they could see a wide, thin grin with his teeth pressed tightly together. Nervously they waved back.

Playfully Markus punched the Greninja in the shoulder. "Ten days," he whispered. "I'll be waiting for you at Kanga's."

"Remember the score. 12-14, my deal," he said. Markus nodded, quickly gathering the cards and putting the pegs back in the slot under the track. He folded up the board and shoved it back into the interior of the cloak. The Greninja reached under the guest bed and pulled out the green bottle between the two barrels. "Here," he said, tossing the bottle to the cloaked figure. Markus juggled it in his hands before finally getting a hold of it. A faded label advertised it as some kind of bubbly champagne. "It's not much, but it's special stuff. Meant to be savored. Hopefully it'll hold you over until I get back. I doubt Mamma Kanga will have anything else for you, so I'll be quick."

Markus nodded a silent _thank you_. "Godspeed," he wished him. He rushed to the opposite window, shoved it open, and jumped through it and into the streets. His cloak waved behind him as he sprinted away, marked only by the solid sound of his footsteps.

"Even faster than that," Festuum muttered to himself. He looked back to Bisharp, who was parting from the window and meandering over to the door. With a deep breath the Water-type went to greet him. The door swung open, and Festuum found himself face-to-face with the Steel-type. "Heeey, it's been too long," he greeted. "Come on in. The place is a bit of a mess, but, hey. Home is home. I'll brew us some tea."

"Let's skip the tea," Bisharp requested.

"Oh, does it cause you to rust? I might have some milk around here, though it won't be too cold," Festuum offered.

"Don't feel the need to stall for your friend," Bisharp insisted. "I don't need to come after him yet. There's still time."

"Stalling? You insult my hospitality," the Greninja scowled. "If milk isn't your thing, we have some alcohol. I was planning on saving it, but friends don't come to town often. Alcohol doesn't cause too much rust, does it?"

"I'm only going to say this once before I get angry," hissed Bisharp through his teeth. "Give me what's mine, and I'll be on my way."

"I… I'm sorry, but I'm afraid I don't remember having anything that belongs to you." Festuum tilted his head, as if doing so would knock the answers loose so they could fall out to help the Steel-type. "Could you maybe describe it for me? It might help."

"I'll play your game," sighed the visitor. "It's a sleeve to go along your arm. It probably looks like it was ripped off something else. Green, too, unlike any other shade. Smoother than silk."

"A weird green sleeve…" The Greninja put his palm on his chin and began to think. "That sounds so… familiar…" His tongue, wrapped neatly around his neck, loosened and sagged in front of him, giving Bisharp a sliver to see the pale skin around his neck, and a green piece of fabric wrapped around it, coated in slimy saliva. Bisharp's eyes nearly bulged out of his head, consumed in an unworldly shade of red. His teeth pressed against each other so hard that they looked that they might have snapped under the pressure.

"I don't know if I even want to waste time describing how painfully you'll die," cackled Bisharp through a twisted smile.

"What did I- oh. _Oh_." Festuum saw where Bisharp's gaze was piercing into, and the green fabric around his neck was brought to his attention. "I forgot about that. It's been there so long. You still want it, right?"

"'Want' doesn't begin to describe it," the Steel-type proclaimed.

"Yeah. I can see why, considering what it means to you." The Greninja mirrored Bisharp's smile, garnishing it with his signature arrogance. "Even now, I can still taste a hint of it. That woman; she lingers." He shifted his voice to something softer, something brittle, something tender. Festuum slithered forward, putting a mere inch between him and the quivering Steel-type. "That fading aroma is still there; a wraith of her former presence... You still remember, don't you, Bishie?"

Bisharp lurched his arm forward, grasping for the Greninja's neck, only to be met by the door slamming into it. His arm punched a hole clean through the wood. With a roar of frustration he swung his arm to the side, cutting the door in half and through to part of the wall. There he saw the Greninja squirming out from under the bed with a small barrel under each arm and leaping over and out through the window.

"Where are you off to, ' _old friend?!'_ " Bisharp shouted after him. He jumped through the window behind him, landing deftly in the cobblestone streets. His unworldly red eyes seemed to glow as Festuum looked back at him. The Greninja kicked off the wall and made his way to the rooftops. "We'd just finally met up again! Why cut it right here?!" Grinning, the Steel-type pursued his prey, tracking him by the lingering aroma.

…

It was late into the afternoon as Gallade sat in his office with a newspaper in his hands. He was pleased with himself, smiling to no one, as he read through the front page article, titled in bold black lettering, _**Sableye's Scandal**_. A passable title, Gallade noted, but nothing great. Within the text, surrounding a black and white sketch of Sableye's tower, he read their brief interview and summary of the events.

He was near the conclusion, where it was beginning to mention how the business fell under control of the city, under the watch of the Guild of course, when he was interrupted from his paperwork by four solid, loud knocks on his grand door, as if someone was punching it. He knew instantly that it was Rhyperior. Gallade flicked his hand up, switching the mechanisms inside the door, and placed the newspaper on his desk. "Come-"

Rhyperior shoved the door open and barged in, lumbering forward, with a dire look in his eyes. Gallade could see this, but chose to lighten the mood anyways. "I thought we taught you better manners than this," he said.

"We just got a report from Port Llaffan. Pictures included," Rhyperior stated.

"Pictures?" Gallade repeated. "If there's something I've learned from being a Guildmaster, it's this: reports that include pictures are never good." His smile faltered, and his index finger tapped on the smooth surface of his desk.

"There was an attack on the town. The barracks did a headcount of the population, and they're missing nine-hundred-thirty-seven Pokemon," Rhyperior explained grimly.

"Nine-hundred…" Gallade whispered. His smile was gone. "That's…" His finger scratched against the glossy surface and left a small gash in the face of the desk. That was the fourth gash, and was the second largest one among them. "Who did it? What did the witnesses say?" Gallade demanded.

"We… we don't know," Rhyperior admitted. "There _aren't_ any witnesses."

…

Gallade had nearly his entire life been an Explorer under Garchomp, and as he grew up, he had been trusted to take on the world. Throughout his sixty years, he had experienced much across this world. He had seen wars, he had fought wars, and he had prevented wars. He had seen the lord of the land, the titan clad in red, reshape the very earth in what had been dubbed _The Battle for Arushar_. Of all of his experiences, seeing what had happened to Port Llaffan was easily in competition for the most horrifying. If he had personally experienced the event that would later be known as _The Llaffan Slaughter_ , Gallade just might have put it at the top.

The first thing Gallade noticed was the smell. It was the smell of war, of fire and steel, of unjust ruin and death. This kind of scent was not new to him, of course. His first taste of it was at the age of fourteen, when he was but a Kirlia, in the lands of Makoto. The carnage had made his younger self vomit, but some part of his mind likened it to the smoky scent of an exotic barbeque that had just begun to rot.

He had taken notice of the trace bits of the odor on the wind as he approached Port Llaffan in a chain of Teleports. It had taken him the remains of the evening to travel, so Gallade emerged upon the top of a distant hill to see the outline of the ruined city. The fleeting orange flow of the sunset danced on the reflection of the sea, like phantoms of the fire that had previously raged. Through the haze and the oncoming dark, the Guildmaster could just make out the destruction. It was indiscriminate, whatever it was, seeming to fell whatever was in its path. From this far away, the details of its cause were impossible to decipher, but he could grasp its scope. From the slums in the outskirts to the heart of the port, the entirety of the south end of town had been leveled. The businesses and homes, the lives that had been formed there, all wiped out in an afternoon.

With one more Teleport, Gallade was amongst the wreckage. He stood in the middle of a street that was once a shopping district. Broken and charred remains of stands and booths lay in an unorganized pile with pieces of the goods that they held and the owners that sold them. The very ground was burnt black, in a layer of ash that wiped away and stained Gallade's finger. No fires raged, but embers did glow a dim red.

As he stood there, on the graves of some fifty souls, he could feel a potent hatred in the air. His kind has that ability, to sense emotions, and for him, his mind had wired itself so that it delivered its message through his hearing. The sound of hatred was rough, grinding, enough to make one become hateful just by listening to it. The closest he could compare it to, and it was damn close, would be grating flesh on a large chunk of pumice. It made his skin crawl when he was younger, and it still did today.

Between the grating though, he could hear two other emotions. The first was the soft gurgle of water tumbling down a stream. It brought visions of warm sunlight and an open meadow, and Gallade could feel a hand holding his own. It was joy. Amongst the hatred, there was joy. The other was of wind, of air rushing past one's head as they rush forward or plummeting back to earth. He knew this well as the gale of determination. Hatred, joy, and determination, lingering in the air like cigarette smoke.

Gallade wandered the slaughtering grounds for half an hour, advancing towards the sea, when he started stumbling upon some of the clearer signs of destruction. In the roads, clear of rubble in the more developed areas yet still charred black, he saw gashes scarred into the cobblestone. They were nearly a foot deep, some even more, and averaged at around three inches wide. Their length varied, but they all pointed loosely in one direction that indicated the path this monster took. Gallade took note of these details, but there was something about them that grasped his attention immediately. The Guildmaster dropped to his knees and placed his open palm in the gash, and he immediately regretted calling it a gash. For a "gash" is rough, sloppy, more of a rending than a proper cut. The surface of the stone, and dirt underneath it, was perfectly smooth to the point of being pleasant to the touch. Soil had been packed in so tightly that he could not feel the point that the stone became earth. It was as if the graceful beast had melted and molded it. Gallade had been to every corner of the known world, and even shone a light on some corners that had been veiled in shadow. There was nothing he feared more than a graceful beast.

"Holy hell." Gallade was broken from his hypnosis, and he turned his head to see another living figure. It was a Feraligatr, and instantly Gallade recognized him as one of his own, a Guildmember that had been posted to Port Llaffan. He was one of a handful that had stuck around in Llaffan's barracks as an officer. The Guildmaster stood up to face him as the Water-type charged forward. "Thank Arceus you're here. Half of the town-"

"I heard from Rhyperior," Gallade replied to him. "937 missing, subject to change. Seeing the damage myself, though… I can't say I'm surprised there's no witnesses."

"We've lost nine of our own," Feraligatr somberly told him. "Brave Explorers that dove in to save the Pokemon trapped within, all of them."

Nine was less than desirable, but Gallade was glad to know that the entire squad of fifteen had not been eradicated. The death toll was already high as it was. Nine more did not add to it, especially considering that they had taken this job knowing the risk. "We'll hold a ceremony," he said. "But, with all due respect, there's more pressing matters at hand. Do we have any information? Any at all? Or do we need to break out the forensics before we can start anything?"

"Back at the barracks," Feraligatr said. "Barbaracle is recovering there. She saw a bit of what happened."

This was another one he knew. Barbaracle was another one of the constants that remained in Port Llaffan, essentially heading these barracks herself. She was strong soldier with a sense of justice, joining the guild nearly thirty years ago, back when Garchomp still ran the place. Gallade had considered taking her into part of his cabinet, but he had decided not to based on one simple fact: Barbaracle was strong, but her vitriolic justice was not unique to her. She took the job of watchman of Llaffan without any argument, for being close to the sea again was more than she could ask for.

Gallade didn't hesitate to head for the barracks in the north end of town. Feraligatr stayed behind after their brief exchange, as he had been given the job of searching for possible survivors and further evidence. Neither he nor Gallade were optimistic about the results of his search. The Guildmaster crossed the wreckage into the remaining urban environment. For a short while, buildings and roads were littered with dust and debris and burnt black lines, caused by the graceful beast that for some reason had not pushed further into the city.

Gallade advanced forward to the barracks, a three story wooden home with a straw roof. A small group of civilians had gathered outside, sulking about only to be roused by the Guildmaster. He gave them pleasantries, apologized for their situation, and told them he would do what he could before continuing inside. There he found three of his own Guildmembers, a Seismitoad lugging a bowl of water, a Hitmonlee next to a couch, and Barbaracle laying on the aforementioned couch. Both of her left arms were missing, cut like small trees, with a thick red sap gradually oozing out of the stumps. The three tried to proceed with the typical formalities, saluting and what not, but Gallade refused to have any of it. He sat down across from them, hands folded across his lap, and demanded for a report. Barbaracle hesitated for a moment, and would have shuddered if not for her wounds, until she began to relive the events.

"It started off with some screams," she said. "Distant stuff, we could barely hear it, but then shit started breaking. We could see buildings in the distance falling over. Ten of us went over to try and stop it, whatever it was. From what I've heard, I'm the only one who made it." Gallade thoughtfully nodded. "We ran in, and there was fire. And screaming. Some of us went to help others escape. Six of us went towards where the destruction came from."

"Did you see anyone?" Gallade asked impatiently.

"You know the Carnival, don't you?" she asked. "The Greninja. You know, the rogue?" Gallade nodded. "He was there, at the heart of the fire."

"What, a Water-type set the town on fire?" Gallade scoffed.

"I was shocked, too," Barbaracle continued. "He was running towards me as a building fell behind him. I followed him with his eyes, and started to run at him. Then… I was attacked."

"Attacked?"

Hitmonlee piped up, "She was stabbed in the back. Two cleaves, one taking her arms and the other punching through her chest. It doesn't look good."

"I've taken worse," Barbaracle dismissed. Amongst her voice, Gallade could hear a high-pitched, warped, echoing whine that he knew as fear. She was lying. It was almost impossible that she was alive now, and surviving the night would be a miracle. No such miracle would occur, and she would pass just an hour before sunrise the next morning.

"Then please," Gallade urged her. "What do you know?"

"I was stabbed with something hard, something physical," she said. "That's all I know about whoever it was. They fucking tossed me to the floor, like I'm nothing. Like I wasn't capable of kicking their teeth in if they weren't a fucking coward."

" _Please_ ," Gallade interrupted her. "Stay focused here."

"Right," she begrudgingly sighed. "I tried to look at the bastard, but I couldn't see them through the smoke and fire."

"But you could hear him, couldn't you?" Gallade asked her.

"Well…" Barbaracle took a moment to think. "There was their footsteps. Loud, and solid, like he was stomping. And…" She shook her head. "I'm sorry. That's all I can remember."

"It's… fine," said Gallade. The warped, high-pitched whining grew louder. "Telling us about the Greninja is enough of a lead on its own. Thank you, Barbaracle."

"Yes sir," she grimly smirked.

A few more words were exchanged, shifting the topic onto what to do with the city. The Guildmaster gave them a statement that they could submit to the town of Port Llaffan, ensuring them that he would send in increased patrol as well as labor and funds to assist in reconstruction. Overall, he would prioritize justice, and increase the bounty on The Carnival, Festuum. He stayed in the barracks that night, and leave the following morning. Sleep would evade him, however, so after an hour of lying in bed, he would arise, light a lamp, and sit down at the dining room table. Any Guild facility has a fresh supply of paper and ink, which he helped himself to, picked up a plain, smooth black quill, no garish feather to decorate it as he had done to his own, and he began to write in his neat, elegant scrawl that was simultaneously alluring yet professional. Often he found himself mumbling to himself under his breath but a single number. He whispered it with a secretive passion, a yearning, a longing, yet also a refusal, a disbelieving that made his lip quiver as his hand went on staining the parchment with a mind of its own. The word was uttered repeatedly, desperately, tenderly, like whispering to his lover during pillow talk. The number was, simply, eight.

...

As Espeon returned to the library where he worked, he was not at all surprised to see Weavile still loitering there, sitting on top of a table reading a random book she had pulled off the nearest shelf. On its cover was a picture of a white Wailord leaping from the sea, with the words "Moby Dick" scrawled across the top in a noble font.

"So? How'd it go?" she asked him almost as soon as he set a paw through the door. "I saw the papers, but did everything go smoothly with Sableye? He doesn't suspect anything, does he?"

"Just who do you take me for?" Espeon scoffed. "There's a reason that little imp is in charge of the Scavenger division. I'd be surprised if he even knew he'd been framed."

"Ok, so no problems there. Now, if we're lucky, Sableye will do our work for us," Weavile snickered.

Espeon sighed as he took the book from Weavile's claws and placed it back on the shelf while walking past her to his desk, "Now that that's done with, will you leave?"

"Shouldn't we plan our next move?"

"Don't worry about it. The way things are going now, we won't need to do anything more. Something tells me things are about to get hectic, so keep your eyes open," Espeon advised.

"What does that mean?" Weavile asked, confused.

"You'll see," Espeon stated simply, then began pushing her off the table with his telekinesis. "For now, just keep doing what you're doing and you'll be fine." He told her as he shoved her towards the door.

"Tch! Are all Psychic-types so annoying?" Weavile grumbled as she opened the door to leave.

"Who knows? Don't come back here unless you actually need me for something important!" Espeon called after her as she left the library.

"'Something important,' he says… Is overthrowing Persian not important to him…?" Weavile muttered as she stomped off, irritated at her sudden ejection from the library.

She had only progressed some twenty yards away when she heard someone calling for her. "Weavile!" shouted a deep, weary voice. The Dark-type, not stopping, turned her head to see a large, flabby Grumpig chasing after her. Weavile recognized him vaguely as a part of the assassins, and that was all she bothered to remember. The thought of a pig assassin was enough to make her laugh, and that was all she needed from him. Learning that he was not a traditional killer, and instead focused on entrapment, would only ruin the joke for her. She also did not bother to stop walking for him to catch up, and only when the boar was within speaking distance did she acknowledge him.

"What do you need?" she asked coldly.

"Bisharp... sends you a message," he panted. "He wants to see you."

"What?" Weavile stopped abruptly and spun around. "He knows he can just come here, doesn't he? I mean, he has someone there who can Teleport him."

"Bisharp wants you in his own office, where he's secure," Grumpig said.

"Where he can be sure no one will hear my screams?" Weavile asked half-joking. "He's not exactly the kind of Pokémon I would want to be completely alone with in that butchery."

"I don't think he's after that," he replied. "He told me to phrase it as if he were asking you on a date. It's just, I didn't want to, 'cause I knew I'd stammer, and if I messed up my line Bisharp would hurt me." That was a lie. He was just too embarassed

"Yeah, yeah… tell him to expect me tomorrow afternoon," Weavile grumbled. She turned around and continued storming away.

"W-wait, wait," he called after her, starting to stumble forward. "A-are you sure you can't come sooner?" Grumpig asked. He had done more than just seen what Bisharp would do when someone disappointed him, and if the Mad Jack had to wait for his date for a whole day… Grumpig had a feeling that whatever he would do, it would be sharp.

"Look, I have my own duties to attend to, and I've been running around a lot as of late. Poor Murkrow is left having to handle all those kids on his own," Weavile stated. "I'll come tomorrow afternoon."

"Y…" He clenched a fist and stopped in the street. Grumpig knew who she was, and she was infamous for being stubborn. It would be easier to deal with Bisharp's anger than to try and convince Weavile to drop her plans, he assumed. "Fine. But please, try and hurry. It'll make it easier for both of us." The Dark-type didn't bother to respond. She just continued to walk until she no longer heard the Grumpig's heavy footsteps behind her.

…

The next day she arrived in Scarlet City to the butcher's shop, now unnamed as the sign that read 'Bishie's Butcher Barn' was missing. Chains hung down where it used to be, and underneath them, half-buried in the sand were splinters of wood and two cut chain links. She opened the door and braced herself.

Mandibuzz was missing today from the receptionist desk, and she was now replaced by the wise Alakazam who floated in place with two open titleless books bobbing up and down in the air. His head didn't even move upon Weavile's arrival. It was almost as if he was in his own world, sucked in and locked in their pages, but without blinking an eye he 'welcomed' her. "Twenty-one hours late. There's being rude, and then there's being careless. This? You're just spitting in his face." Not that he wouldn't be into that, the sick fuck, Weavile thought, but decided not to say.

"I told your messenger I wouldn't be here until tomorrow," she answered him.

"You did. Unfortunately, that wasn't an option available," Alakazam said without skipping a beat. "It was not your error. Bisharp is irritated but not wrathful. Last I checked, anyways. It would be smart to hurry before that comes. He's in his room."

"Wait, his room?" Grumpig's words flashed in her mind. He told me to phrase it as if he were asking you on a date. Stories of the Mad Jack blossomed in her mind, of the twisted legends inspired by the look in his eyes and his crooked smile flashing between his razor-sharp fingers. Her heart beat harder in her chest. "What's wrong with his office?"

"He wants it to be a surprise," Alakazam shrugged.

It sure as hell was a surprise. Bisharp was unsurprisingly infamous amongst the syndicate for being a twisted bastard amongst twisted bastards. The atrocious things he was accused of were no worse than the things he did. For every soul he made watch their lover die slowly, he stole the dying, gurgling gasp from someone's lips with his own. Bisharp had almost become more than himself, a myth, a fucked-up folktale to tell the kids. Remember to brush your teeth, or they'll be ripped out one by one and then you'll be forced to eat them with nothing but your bloody gums. Her imagination ran wild as she tried to prepare herself for what the bladed boogeyman's room would look like. She had imagined something akin to Kuroba's place (surely they had to be related, now that she thought about it), with entrails decorating the walls like a cannibal birthday party, and to catch him in the middle of fucking a mass of loosely-held-together organs and meat. She thought of many things, but none of them were a candlelit dinner.

It was a disappointingly simple room. There was a grindstone in one corner, and a desk on the other end of the room next to a bed with a blanket of steel wool. Lavender curtains were pulled across the windows, and the most morbid thing in the room was the shrunken, wilted head of a Celebi on Bisharp's desk, but Weavile was too distracted to notice.

Bisharp sat leaning forward in a chair, his elbows propped up on a small dining table. Shadows danced across the room cast by flickering flames on the end of four white candles that stood on the table's corners. They trapped within their boundaries a grand silver platter as big as a shield covered in a silver dome, a basket with a loaf of bread peeking out just above the rim, and a smooth green bottle sat in a metal container, half-submerged in mildly cold water.

"I know punctuality isn't your strong suit," said Bisharp in his usual sweetly terrible voice, greeting her with a charming smile, "but this is something else entirely. It's because of an attitude like yours that you don't get asked out that much."

"Don't give me that," Weavile spat with more anger than she actually held. Never show fear, never show discomfort. The very second she showed any weakness to the Mad Jack was the very second she lost to him, and she adamantly didn't want to find out what losing entailed. "You know I'm busy. Did you honestly expect me to just drop everything and come here?"

"Yes, yes," Bisharp nodded facetiously. "Very busy, I'm sure. You babysit for a living, after all. Only…" His cold lips formed a frown as his left hand moved to cover his chin. "You were actually at the library, according to my messenger. Your feathered friend told him that you'd be there. That Murkrow was actually the one babysitting. I wonder just what you were up to…"

As a smile bloomed out of his frown, Weavile became more aware of the possibility that this was a setup. The thought had occurred to her before, but she dismissed it because there were only two Pokemon who knew: Murkrow and Espeon. Murkrow wouldn't dream of snitching, and if Espeon were to tell Persian, he would have done so before the incident with Sableye. The smiling demon in front of her, taunting her with a silent grin seeming to glisten in the candlelight, apparently knew regardless. Espeon was an odd Pokemon, so had he by chance told Persian anyways? And now the cat had lured her here to be ripped to shreds one slice, one sliver at a time? Her heart pounded in her chest, but her face didn't move. It dared not to move.

She might have fled after a few more seconds of his knowing grin if he didn't speak again a few seconds later. "But, hey. That's none of my business. I'm no nosey-Probsey. Go on, sit down." He gestured to a chair opposite his own, where an empty plate awaited her with silverware and a fancy drinking glass.

Weavile groaned, retaining her bravado. "For fuck's sake Bisharp, don't waste my time. Get to-"

"SIT." He thundered his command like a dog owner screaming his order over the frantic barking of a German Shepard. Weavile froze. Weakness flashed on her face, but if Bisharp noticed, he showed no sign of it. His own face was gradually cooling down from a tightened, patient anger to give way, bit by bit, to the twisted charm of his original expression. "Down. Please," he finished.

"Tch." It was the only syllable Weavile could utter, the only phrase she could pull off believably, and simultaneously cover her weakness. She flashed her fangs, Bisharp didn't react in the slightest, and then she sat down across from him. "Let's get this over with." Weavile said it coolly, but it was something she felt with each fiber of her being.

"You wound me." He put a hand over his heart and leaned back in his chair. "I waited for you. I made all this dinner for you. Twice, even! It got cold yesterday, so I went through the trouble of making a second meal for us. Arceus… I think I see why you don't get asked out often. While I don't want this to be 'over with' just yet, I'll put us in the right direction. I'll start us off."

Bisharp reached forward and removed the dome from the platter, revealing a cooked spiral ham upon a bed of frilly kale. Its glaze glistened in the light of the flickering flames, and its sweet aroma of sugar and fruit wafted out and captivated her, almost making her forget the situation she was in. It was a huge prime cut, enough for a feast of twenty. The Steel-type leaned in and inhaled its aroma, and then whistled. "Man, this turned out beautiful… I wanted it to be a surprise for the both of us, so I didn't even look after I put him in the oven."

"I didn't expect you to be such a good cook," Weavile admitted calmly, trying to convince herself just as much as her bladed host that she was unruffled by his gaze.

The Steel-type reached forward with his left hand, extending his index finger, and gracefully carved a thin sliver of meat from the main cut. His right reached for Weavile's plate, letting her piece glide onto it and laid in the center in a slowly growing puddle of its own juices. "Hope you enjoy," he said, placing the plate back in front of her. "I learned a trick about cooking this kind of meat. Did you know that you can actually grind up the pearl into tiny grains, like salt crystals, and it has a reaction with the meat to make it taste even better? It has something to do with how Psychic-types work. Every time you think you know how they operate, another one shows up and contradicts everything."

"You didn't poison it or anything, did you?" Weavile asked, although she didn't wait for a response before cutting a piece off with her knife and putting it in her mouth.

"Poison isn't my thing. It's too hands-off for my liking," he replied. "How is it? I don't normally cook civilized meat. Their diet changes the natural flavor, and this guy tended to eat a lot." He sliced off his own piece and let it slip onto his plate.

"Nothing's better than a meal you're not supposed to eat, but I personally prefer something less fatty," Weavile responded, growing more comfortable with each bite, although still keeping her guard up.

Bisharp frowned again. He neaty sliced a piece off and finally took a bite for himself. All day he had been waiting for a taste, after carving up Grumpig himself. Cleaning and gutting, not to mention the killing itself (oh, how he had put up a fight. It was futile, but futility never occurs to those that are inches from death, for the pig had hoped he might live), and then the preparation of the meal itself. Cooking was an artform he found himself appreciating more and more, turning the dead and mutilated into the beautifully alluring. When it hit his tongue, it was salty and sweet with a sugary, fruity glaze that held within it a blend of sea salt and the ground-up pearl from the pig's belly. It was delectable. No more fatty than ham usually is, especially after he trimmed it. Weavile was full of shit.

"To each their own," he shrugged. Next he removed the green bottle from the aluminum tub, impaled the cork on one finger, and then pulled it out with a satisfying pop. A small stream of bubbles poured out. It left a small trail as Bisharp reached over to Weavile's glass and filled it with a golden liquid. "This usually lightens the mood," he said, and then poured himself a glass.

"Is this…" Weavile took a quick sniff. "Champagne?" She began to wonder, which quickly turned into worry, just what he had in mind for this date.

"I had planned on laughing at you and drinking it all myself," Bisharp said casually. A toothy, almost seductive grin stretched across the Steel-type's face. "This isn't the first time I've done this to someone. Send them a messenger, then force them to eat said messenger… It can often break their minds for them to eat another sentient being. Civilized meat… It's taboo, you know. But, I had forgotten that you're one cold bitch."

"You're one to talk," she said, just as casually.

"Persian chose well when he picked you to be his babysitter," Bisharp said. "You're fucked up. You ain't right in the head. You're the type of scum that makes this world worse for everybody, and that's just what takes you far in this business. In ten years, you would make someone a very usable pawn… How old are you, anyways?"

"Sixteen," Weavile answered.

Bisharp whistled. "That young? You're as despicable as I was at the age of… three, give or take." He raised his own glass of champagne and held it between his fingers. "A toast," he said. "To pieces of shit like us."

They were shit from different beasts, and Bisharp's odor overpowered her own. To be grouped up like this was a crude compliment, and Weavile didn't know if she liked it or not. She grinned anyways and raised her own glass. "To pieces of shit like us," she mirrored, and quickly sipped and swallowed a mouthful of champagne.

The Steel-type held his in his mouth for a while, savoring a flavor that reminded him of every other 'date' he had been on. Every meal he would make, perfecting his craft over the years. He had not always been a master butcher. Long ago he made simple sandwiches, and couldn't even get that right, and he drank with it a simple glass of apple juice. The company he took in those early days was far better than who he had now. And if this one didn't even squirm for him, what was the point of continuing this?

"Not too talkative, are you?" he asked.

"You're essentially holding me here," she replied. "I can't help it if I'm not entirely enjoying this with you."

"About that…" Bisharp's smile faded. "I don't think this is gonna work out between us. I thank you for humoring me here, but… you aren't eccentric enough for me. Too plain. It's like, you're in this business for the sake of the business. There's a meaning to this kind of work, you know. I can't date a pawn."

"Well, I can't say I'm all too fond of insane serial killers, myself," Weavile replied.

"You can still enjoy the champagne and everything while you're here. I just have to talk business now." Now Bisharp wore only a grimace hidden behind his hands as he rested his head on his folded hands. His eyes held a cold glint in the candlelight. "I talked to Persian yesterday. He told me something rather interesting. Do you know what it is?"

"How would I?" Weavile scoffed.

A hint of an icy smile emerged from the corner of Bisharp's mouth, and was quickly snuffed out. "Take a guess," he told her.

"Damn it," she sighed. "Just get to the-"

"Take," Bisharp barked. Weavile jolted in her chair. "A guess."

Fuck, I hate this guy. If Persian told him to do this, I swear, putting up with him will be worse than whatever he does next, she thought. A guess, though… What the hell does he want me to say? "I don't know. He's… joining our divisions together?"

"No, no," Bisharp laughed. "Dear lord, no. I think even Persian knows not to give kids to me." He cocked his head to the side, and the icy smile grew to stretch across his rusted face. "As it turns out, it involves the Guild."

"What did they do this time?"

"It turns out, Gallade knows something he shouldn't. He possesses something he shouldn't. And Persian," he beamed, "asked me to go take care of him."

"... You're kidding," Weavile whispered. Raiding the guild was unheard of, for it was suicidal to even attempt it. Attacking Explorers was one thing, and the veterans were another. The Guild itself? Getting past the inner circle of warriors Gallade possessed, not to mention Gallade himself, was ludicrous. But, if anyone would sign up for something so insane, it would be the Mad Jack.

"I'm not. The Guild is not something I like to joke about," Bisharp stated. "I'm going to take four or five of my best, and we're going in to wipe out their own elites. The brats that live there are to, for the most part, be left alive. A good sixty percent of them need to remain. What's the fun in wiping out all the competition?"

"Then what do you want from me?" she asked cautiously. Weavile was no weakling, but the Guild's gatekeepers would shrug her off like anyone else.

"Cannon fodder," he replied. Weavile stopped abruptly, a single finger pointed in the air. "I'd need a handful of bodies to hold back all the Explorers. Persian limited me to two dozen, but gave me permission to get anyone I'd like."

"Bullshit," she spat. "I'm not having any part of this suicide pact."

"That," he said sternly, "isn't up to you. The kitty said, and I quote, 'the moment you ask someone, I'll consider them dead. Do what you will.'" Bisharp paused, still flashing his icy smile, while he read Weavile's face. The taboo meal had not broken her, and even now she was not 'broken', but he could see a few cracks.

To Weavile, the fact that Persian was allowing her to be forced into Bisharp's suicide pact was not surprising. In this business she had seen others be tossed aside and scapegoated for as long as she could remember. Pieces of shit like them were always drawn to this line of work, and that also was not surprising. They tossed aside anyone that was no longer of any use to them, and that was what formed these cracks. Persian was tossing her aside into the pit with every other useless failure.

She looked up and glared at Bisharp, who was savoring another mouthful of champagne. "I'm not your pawn," she spat, banging a fist into the table. Plates and silverware clattered, and her own glass tumbled over and spilled its golden drink onto the table.

"Heh." His breath was visible in the air, hanging around his face as a thin cloud of steam before melting away. His room, curtains drawn over a scalding day in the desert of Scarlet City, was colder now. "It's like you want me to insult you. I'm trying to be civil here, and you're not making it easy. Either you're my pawn, or you're the meal I serve when I talk to the next guy." His eyes, colorless in the flickering candlelight, looked into her unwavering scowl. So, he decided to make it waver. "Or, do you not believe what I'm saying? 'Persian would never do something so stupid, and he would never-ever give that psycho the right to pick anyone he wants to get everyone killed.'" Even then his smile did not leave him. As he finished, he cocked his head to the side, batted his eyes, and added, "That about right?"

Weavile nodded and sheltered behind her bastion of a grimace.

"Alright, I'm not gonna waste any more time on that then. This should work." Bisharp blinked, and his smile wilted away behind his hands. He sharply inhaled with a grating, painful screech in the back of his throat, and when he did so, the candles on his side of the table flickered and died. The room was instantly colder and darker, with Weavile in the center of two circles of candlelight. At the end of the light, eyes gleaming like a wolf stalking a camp, was the Mad Jack. "If you don't go along with me, then I will tell Mr. Kitty about your little coup d'etat, and what you did with Sableye's place. If he doesn't consider you dead now, he will then."

The cracks stretched further under the pressure. Red irises shrunk in her eyes. Her fists loosened up and her grimace faded away as jaw hung ajar. "You…!"

"Yes, me. What a bastard. Now, give me your answer," Bisharp demanded.

"What the hell are you after?" Weavile demanded back.

The Steel-type rolled his eyes. "I told you, I'm just following orders. Like hell I'd pass an opportunity like this. As for you, I couldn't care less if you end up overthrowing Persian. Mr. Kitty is boring. You're inept. I couldn't be friends with either of you, really, but I'm not here for friends," he said. "Whether or not you believe that, it doesn't matter. Buddy, either you can listen, or you can die. Up to you. I never did try to cook a Weavile before."

She flashed him a bitter, toothy smile with her fangs bared. "I'll play your game, you son of a bitch," Weavile spat. She hated him, and whatever he was really after couldn't be any good, for the Mad Jack was just as fucked in the head as his nickname implied. But it was just that: not good. With Persian's name attached to this ludicrous mission, it would dampen his reputation even further.

"Good. You're more reasonable than I took you for," he said. Bisharp shifted his weight and flicked his eyes to the door behind her, and then quickly put them back to his guest. "I'm gonna need more cannon fodder, though, so I need you to pick up… let's say, twenty other Pokemon near your level."

"Why do I have to?"

"You know the… lower soldiers more than I," Bisharp said. "And I think they'd take it better from you rather than me." This at least was true. If Bisharp had come personally to get her, it would be terrifying.

She grinned despite the thought and leaned forward to take the high ground. "What's this? If I recall, you said that you were all we needed to kill everyone in the world."

Bisharp laughed for a moment with his eyes clamped shut and his head tossed back. He twice clapped his metallic hands together with a hollow clink, making the Dark-type's grin falter briefly. "Clever. I didn't think I'd hear that little taunt again," he said, once again brandishing his icy smile. "But, honestly? I'm not… killing, exactly…" He cleared his throat. "Weavile, we're going to fight. This is no killing. This is a war."

His guest could not think of anything to say, and her grin melted away. The mere phrasing he chose was unsettling for her. Calling it 'war' isn't wrong, she had thought, but it was not pleasant to think about. She could turn this whole situation in her favor, sure, but only if she survived this war that she's being forcefully drafted into.

"I guess I'll do it," she said to him. "But I'm not sure how many Pokemon I can find that also happen to be suicidal enough."

"Oh, don't worry," Bisharp said. He returned back to his icy smile once again, glistening white in the edge of Weavile's sphere of light. "You can use my name. Threaten them. Bribe them if you want, but I doubt you will. Just, don't mention this anywhere in public. It's an incredibly delicate scenario, you know."

"Got it," Weavile nodded.

"No, girlie, you don't," Bisharp said. His tone was strict despite his smile. "Even Arcanine doesn't know about it. Don't bring it up around Persian, because he doesn't even want to take the chance with his partner. It's that serious. As such, I'll let you know that you're gonna be watched during this. If anyone says no, I'll see to it that they're dealt with. If anyone goes to talk about it with anyone else, they'll also be dealt with. Something tells me that by the time this is over, we'll have a grand ol' feast. Now, babysitter, you understand me."

Weavile hesitated for a moment, and then nodded. The secrecy of this operation was unheard of, especially going so far as to exclude Arcanine from the events, but then again, so was the mission.

"Excellent. The attack will happen seven days from now, on the night of the lunar eclipse. That should give you time to recruit twenty bodies, and give us a bit of drama and lighting to our little raid." Bisharp picked up his glass of champagne and carefully sipped the remaining drink. "We'll meet in the graveyard outside Treasure Town. I doubt it'll be that populated on a dark night like that, given superstitions. Fifteen minutes to midnight, I'll be by Groudon's skull. Do be prompt this time. I will be rather cross with you if you show up late."

"Loud and clear," she stated. "I'll even dress up for this."

"Lovely." Bisharp finished off his glass and carefully set it down on the table. He sighed with relief after it clinked on the glossy wood. Colorless eyes looked to the empty cup, to his guest, to his cup again, to the windows drawn with lavender curtains, and then back to his guest where they stayed for a few seconds. "So…" muttered the Steel-type with uncharacteristic awkwardness. "Do you put out, or are you just gonna go?"

It turned out to be the latter. She left in a hurry after laughing in his face, a gesture which would surely get her killed if he didn't seem to have some kind of affection for her from one piece of shit to another, and went passed their new receptionist, Alakazam. He said nothing, and did not even look in her direction as she walked out the door.

She closed the door behind her, and Weavile was in the blazing heat of the sun once again. The air was thick and stale with heat and dust of the early afternoon. There was still a good six or seven hours to get back home, and she was in the middle of figuring out how when she came across a familiar Espeon with red-framed glasses strolling down the street towards her.

"The hell're you doing here?" Weavile asked him once he was within speaking distance.

"I have business from time to time too, you know," Espeon replied. He slowed down as he drew near, and Weavile walked beside him. "It's rather boring though, and I already finished it, so let's not focus on it. Instead let's talk about why you just came out of the butcher's place."

Weavile put on a grim smirk. "You're not going to believe this," she said. "C'mon, let's head back to the library. I'll tell you there." Espeon abruptly cut into an alley and Weavile followed him, and then they left Scarlet City with a single flash of light.

Bisharp remained in his chair at the table, and he did so for some time. He didn't exactly know just how long he remained there, but by the time he got up, the faint light coming in from the cracks in the curtains was the city's signature rosey red sunset. That did not come for a long time, and until it came he remained perched at the dinner for two all by himself. The candles on the other end began to flicker, weaken, struggle, and eventually they too died out. Now his room was dark, save for small beams of light that tried to cut through the darkness from between the curtains. And now that it was dark, he smiled again. Only, there was no icy glint in his teeth this time. Now it was soft, and tender, and caring, as if he was capable of mimicking emotions.

He filled up his own glass with champagne again, and then reached over to the empty seat and filled up the other glass. "A toast," he said, raising his own cup. His invisible guest did not respond in kind, but that did not deter Bisharp. "May we live fruitful lives, and put the blood behind us." Bisharp tilted his head back and took a sip of his drink. He closed his eyes, and he heard the cup across from him lift from the table.

"May we find happiness," said his invisible guest. Her voice was soft and sweet to his ears, intoxicating even. He opened his eyes suddenly, green like a spring meadow, and an alarmed gasp escaped his lips. His glass slipped out of his hand and shattered on the floor. Champagne seeped between the floorboards and dripped down into the kitchen. Bisharp looked across from him, his heart pulsing in his chest, his mouth hanging ajar, at an empty chair.

The laughter of his invisible guest, warm and musical, echoed in the depths of his ear canal, worming into his skull and slithering around and constricting his brain. Bisharp began to laugh along with it. His sweetly terrible chortling blended with the invisible guest's cute giggling that formed a damning melody. Bisharp placed his palm on his cheek and slid it up to his forehead with a grin.

"Fucking hell," he said through his laughter. "I'm going insane here, aren't I?"

"You bet you are." It was Bisharp talking in a much higher, squeaky voice. His smile contorted into a sneer as he whipped his head around, glaring at the shriveled head of the Celebi. "You're fuckin' bonkers, kiddo. You're being ripped apart by the nerves in your brain."

"Shut up, you little shit," Bisharp spat into the empty darkness.


	23. Chapter 23: The Prince's Pride: Part 1

A thick layer of clouds blanketed Treasure Town and the surrounding area, which was a rarity for the area west of the mountains this time of year. From the south a cold wind swept over the town from a storm that ominously drifted in on the horizon, getting noticeably closer, like the bright orange glow of a distant wildfire. Weather like this had a tendency to infect the Pokemon with melancholy which everyone tried in vain to ignore. The gloom of the temperate storm was contagious. Most Pokemon remained indoors, being warded off by the scent of oncoming rain in the air. Children couldn't go anywhere out to play. Adults did only the bare minimum of errand-running that they could get away with. The older Pokemon, while still infected by this melancholy, would not be deterred by a mere storm like this. Storms from the old Majula were much worse than this- apocalyptic, some would even say. But, most of them had friends and family that they stayed inside with anyways.

The Guild had no such luxury. Bad weather would not stop them, even if their Guildmaster was absent. Rhyperior took the helm in his place, and he would allow no gloom to slow down the agents of the law in these lands; such is the way it should be. The Guildmembers flooded out into Treasure Town and beyond when the sun was rising, shimmering sliver behind a thin layer of clouds, and when it reached its highest point and began to gradually fall to the west, now a faint glimmer behind the clouds like a gem in a shallow stream, they trickled back home.

It was somewhere in the early afternoon when Riley and company returned to Treasure Town after another successful mission. Their ride, the Arcanine that had taken the three to Churchwell roughly a week and a half ago, dropped them off on the usual spot in the heart of town. Rose thanked their escort, and Pyro behind her nodded in confirmation. Riley, eyes half-open, gave him a half-hearted wave (which was more like raising a paw in his vague direction, merely to acknowledge his existence). The jackal leaned over and fell off the Arcanine's tailbone, caught himself in a swooping, stumbling motion, and then straightened himself out and walked on towards the cabin on the hill. His teammates exchanged a brief worried, troubled look before wishing their escort a good day and following after him.

Through a short conversation between the Roselia and Charmander, communicated through nods and glares and subtle muscle twitching, occasionally mouthing a word for the more complex thoughts, the responsibility fell onto Rose to try and deal with their newest teammate. She stepped forward a bit, a mere two paces behind Riley, and coughed three times. Riley, not stopping, turned back to her with his half-open eyes. "Mmm?" he muttered.

"You're acting weird," she stated plainly. Beating around the bush would prove a waste of time and effort. "Kinda have been for a while. Are you feeling alright?"

Riley clicked his tongue in his muzzle as he thought. Not about the answer, for he knew that he wasn't, but rather about what to tell her. His phantom brother still lurked in the depths of his memory, taunting him of a life that was his own yet alien to him, but there was not much to be gained aside for sympathy, and he didn't need that.

However, there was another issue; one that Riley had been trying in vain to suppress. He had grown bored again. The jobs had become dull as he went through them, day after day, with such simple tasks. Fetching items for merchants or rescuing Pokemon who had mistakenly wandered into dangerous territory wasn't doing it for him anymore, at least at the level they were at. But telling them would invite ridicule. He could almost hear the Roselia scolding him. _Damn it, Riley, you can't keep doing this to us. Last time you were bored you dragged us into a warzone. I'm not gonna enable you anymore._ Something like that.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just…" _Honesty_ , he told himself. _For the love of god, just be honest with them. Lying can only make things worse_. Yes, but why would he be honest about a negative trait? It'd be like confessing that he used to punt infants like a football to them. Honesty doesn't always make things better. _Maybe. Maybe. But, you already messed up,_ warned his thoughts. Riley, brought back to reality, saw the Roselia with the right side of her brow cocked up as she worryingly looked at him. _You hesitated. The innocent don't tend to hesitate_. _Out with it already._ He mentally sighed. At the very least, telling them would get his own voice off his back.

Riley proceeded his words with an audible, perhaps heavy-handed sigh. "Just a bit bored," he reluctantly admitted. The curious, concerned brows of his partners sunk to cover the tops of their eyes.

"Uh-oh," Pyro piped up.

"Again, huh?" said the Roselia testily.

Riley clenched his teeth together, yet kept them hidden behind his tightened lips. The things akin to fingers in his paws flexed into a fist before loosely falling back into place. "I _know_ , I know. It's this whole thing again," he said quizzaciously.

"So," she sighed, "what does this mean for us?"

"I…" Riley paused for a moment. Had he heard her right? No immediate ridicule? He ran through it again… No. Nothing. Maybe a bit of annoyance in her sigh, but nothing that threatened to ruin their partnership. Yet. He shook his head and hesitantly gave his answer. "I don't know. Just started thinking it over," Riley said. "I'll get back to you on it when I have an answer."

The Charmander thought for a moment, mulling something over, before softly nodding his head. "We'll be waiting," Pyro said. He looked to think once again, debating whether or not to add something, and then shook his head and continued walking. An uncomfortable few seconds passed before the party pressed onward towards the guild.

Awaiting them on the porch, as she awaited everyone else who climbed the hill, was Blaziken, rocking back and forth to pass the time. To Rose, she seemed different, and it was almost immediately noticed. Blaziken's pose would usually be different, but she could always be described with a single word: apathetic. It was the look in her eyes. Normally they were tired, careless blue pools in a golden desert, but now, as they reflected the ashy sky, they darkly gleamed with a distant interest in the southern storm. "Longing" might have been too far, but, it wasn't entirely wrong.

"Welcome," she absently greeted.

"Hello," said Rose hesitantly. Getting a read on the gatekeeper was a daunting task.

"Afternoon," Pyro said.

"What the hell…?" Riley muttered. His ears twitched, and his head turned so he could face the side of the cabin. _Thwack_. It was far, over a hundred yards or so, but clear to him. He flicked his eyes back to see that again, the attention was focused on him. "It's not just me, right? You can hear that too?" he asked.

Blaziken exhaled through her nostrils in a minimal laugh. "All day, I've heard it," she said. It sounded off again. _Thunk. Clack_. "But I can't do anything about him. Just gotta deal with it."

"Wh…" Riley's half-open eyes inflated to life. He formed two fists that he stuck to his sides. "You're kidding me," scoffed Riley. "Kirlia's _still_ down there?"

"Yyyyup," Blaziken said. Hurriedly the Riolu marched off to the side of the cabin and to the edge of the cliff. There Kirlia was, some many feet below and far off in the distance amongst the wanky stone pillars, dancing around a wooden post stripped of its bark that teetered back and forth.

"Son of a bitch…" Riley muttered through his teeth.

"Still leaving his team to their own devices, is he?" Pyro asked facetiously. Blaziken nodded. "Tch. Figures," he scowled.

Riley leaned forward over the cliff. An urge sprouted up inside him, blooming in frustration and anger and dying its petals a bright red, and Riley did not hesitate to snatch it. There was no time spent weighing his options. The idea was pitched, and he wildly swung at it, blasting it out of the park. All that was left was to ritualistically run the bases.

"I'm gonna talk to him," he said, eagerness breaking away his boredom. The distant longing melted away from Blaziken's eyes as they shifted over to the wall behind her, staring roughly where Riley's voice implied he was.

"Don't waste your time," Rose advised. "Kirlia ran last time. He'll do it again."

"Then why hasn't he already bailed?" Blaziken asked them. There was an uncharacteristic urgency in her at that moment, almost driving her to lean forward. She remained still, but her talons briefly flexed to clutch the arms of her rocking chair. "Kirlia's not stupid enough to think he's still hidden, I'd guess. He's not exactly being careful, is he? No ma'am, it seems he doesn't care much if a few Pokemon know." She paused briefly, flicking her gaze in Riley's direction, before returning it back to the ashy sky. "You'd be doing him some good to talk to him, if you ask me, boy. Though, I don't know if he'll see it that way."

"Mmhmm." Riley was listening, sure, but what was 'good' for Kirlia meant nothing to him. It was two things that made him want to. The first was a simplistic childish boredom, primal in its very nature, that demanded to be tended to. Riley did not protest, for the second reason was that this asshole had been neglecting his partners for the past six days. Buizel wasn't holding up too great these days, and adding Kirlia's behavior wasn't helping. The phrase "Playground Justice" came to mind. He uttered it, just above a whisper, and it brought a pleased grin to his lips to fully banish the boredom away, for the time being.

"...Nevermind, go on and waste your time," Rose retracted, and then muttered under her breath, "Lord knows there's nothing else for him to do."

"Think they're gonna duel?" Charmander walked up with his arms folded, studying the back of the Riolu from a distance. He considered Riley a friend, but there were moments like these where Pyro subconsciously associated him with the Wildies. Later on this would dig up to the surface levels of thoughts, and he would mull over the possibility that Riley could in fact be one of the Wildies trying to join civilization. It was a thought that did now, and would later, make him feel uneasy. But today he mistook the unease as the result of the weather, and chose to focus on the excitement of a potential duel.

Rose thought for a moment. "It depends. Do I think he's just gonna 'talk?' Hell no. Do I think Kirlia would accept it? May-"

A strong wind rushed in from the south, lifting the Roselia off her feet and dragging her into the air. Before she or Pyro could even react, Blaziken rocked forward in her chair, leaning forward without getting herself up, and shot her leg forward. Talons wrapped around the Grass-type's waist, pinning her in place as she stared with a stupefied look on her face. Her rescuer's attention was elsewhere, however: rolled almost back into her head, over towards the Riolu.

The cold gale, bringing with it blades of grass and particles of dust, had also taken Riley off his feet. He didn't struggle, he didn't even twitch, as he was pushed off the edge and began plummeting down below to the rocky field.

"Shit, Riley!" the Charmander cried. He broke into a sprint (what he was planning to do, he did not know, but it was his instincts that brought him into motion), and only made it two steps before he was stopped.

"He's fine," Blaziken assured him.

Confused, Pyro looked up to her. "What do you mean, 'fine?!'" he shouted.

"I mean, he's done it before." At this, silence. Even the wind died down. A bewildered Rose looked back to her partner, who in turn shared her bewilderment. Blaziken set her down. As if on cue, there was the not-too-distant scrape of metal tearing through stone, but still close enough to be grating to the ears. It lasted for one second, then two, then three, four… then stopped. No _thump_ , and thankfully, no _splat_. "See? We would've heard something."

"When did he…?" Rose trailed off.

In one fluid motion, Blaziken left her rocking chair and stood towering over the younger Pokemon. She popped her back, then her elbows, then her knees, and finally her neck, each going off like firecrackers a few blocks over. "I don't know about you, but I'm not gonna miss this." On a day like this, after all, what else was she to do? _Your job_ , Rhyperior might have told her. But she had ears. She could do her job and be entertained at the same time, could she not? She strolled over around the cabin to the cliff's edge, followed by the kids, and awaited the duel.

…

Burning. Over the last few days, Kirlia felt a burning within him. His muscles and joints were in agony, as if he were a prisoner of hell, tortured without rest. They screamed for him, fought against him, to stop, to collapse and catch his breath for a mere few minutes. With sheer will Kirlia kept them together, functioning as he so desired. He felt as though he were on fire, but he only took that as motivation to succeed. He was thankful for the gloomy weather, as it brought cool air to his hot pale skin.

With a deep, vacuous breath, Kirlia locked the dagger in place against his hand and lunged forward at the wooden post. _Thunk_. Steel carved through the surface, tearing through his training partner and removing a curl of wood. It fell onto the floor with well over a hundred others of its kind, some with bark, some without. He gritted his teeth, wind hissing between them as he panted, and fanned another burning flame: the will that kept him here.

The Psychic-type glared back at the wooden post. It was in fact his second one, as the first one had been stripped until it was barely more than a broomstick. To say he had 'lost count' of his cuts would imply that he had started counting to begin with. Kirlia had expected to get this down in no more than a day, two if he was slow, and yet here he was with no progress. Returning now would mean admitting defeat, admitting that he failed. He hadn't yet. This hell was not too much for him. He could take much more, and would if he had to.

He entered a stance like that of his father as he tried his best to remember his movements. Heat had a way of making images waver and shimmer, and the pose Gallade had struck was warped in his mind. His left foot was put forward, and his right just behind him. The right hand that brandished the blade was cocked back, pointed at the mutilated post, whilst the left was held out for balance, as well as defensive purposes. Kirlia took another breath, and then he was still. Absolutely still. "To defy the nature of a blade," he whispered. His own voice was hoarse, almost repulsive to himself, and yet he didn't notice.

It was four years ago when Gallade first showed him the technique, the day after Kirlia had evolved. He had asked his father when he would evolve again to become even stronger. _In time_ , Gallade had answered. Kirlia didn't like vague, dismissive answers like this, so he protested. Gallade gave in, thought for a moment, and gave him the dagger from the chest. It was a simple steel blade, light but sharp, and came in a tight leather sheath. _This_ , said his father, _was given to me when I evolved for the first time by my own Guildmaster. It was to prepare me for the swords that would soon be a part of me. It's dangerous, but I know you're smart enough not to be careless with it._ Kirlia was listening carefully, but simultaneously he had been admiring the weapon granted to him. Immediately it felt like the blade had become a part of him, and Kirlia felt whole.

 _It will be years from now, but eventually you'll become skilled enough to learn Blunt-Point._ Kirlia cocked his head to the side. There was a wistful look in his father's eyes as he reached over to a blank sheet of paper. _Watch_ , he said, and picked the piece of paper up. He set it loose in the air, and slowly it fluttered back down. Suddenly he struck the sheet in the air with a thin _pop_ , and it crumpled around the tip of Gallade's blade, binding it tightly. There was no cut, no hole, no puncture of any kind. Merely paper which, as Gallade removed it like a boxing glove, was covered in crevices and faults. Kirlia stared at it in confusion, and the Guildmaster grinned. _Miraculous, ain't it_ , he said. _To defy the very nature of a blade…_

He dropped the piece of paper for Kirlia, who caught it in his left hand. Indeed, it was real. _You're impatient and naive if you think I'll let you evolve right now_ , his father told him. _Since before you were born, I had a Dawn Stone ready for you. It was a fifty-fifty shot you'd be a boy, and another fifty-fifty shot that you'd wanna evolve into a Gallade, but… I had a feeling_. The smile faded away into what Kirlia thought of as a kind of hopeful pride. It was the look that would accompany the speech all fathers gave when telling their sons about the torch they will one day pass on. _When you've become skilled with a blade, I will teach you Blunt-Point. Or send you to be taught. I cannot say. When you've mastered it… only then will I give you the Dawn Stone._

Four years felt like so long ago, like another life before he had been reincarnated with steel in his hand. Certainly he was skilled with a blade by now, anyone who doubted such would soon find out, so this technique- this Blunt-Point- should be within his grasp. The motions of it were familiar to him, for he had seen Gallade strike just so many times before, so all that was left was to successfully strike a solid blow. And so, in his father's stance, he lunged forward with the blade.

 _Thunk_. Another curl of wood fell off and joined the carpet of slivers. Another failed attempt fanned the third fire within him, burning close to his will: anger. It was a fire that had branched from his will, or perhaps it was the other way around, and continued to compete with its sibling. His blood boiled from their combined heat, and Kirlia pressed his teeth together as he tried not to grimace.

A cold wind blew in from the south, stirring the dust and the sand and the curls of wood into the air. It was pleasant against his skin, soothing the fire in his muscles. He took a deep breath of this wind, rushing around him and through the warped stone pillars like rapids, and felt a bit revitalized. Kirlia slid in the stance of his father to try again. Perhaps the angle was off, or he was approaching wrong, or he struck too hard. His only guide was a few memories distorted in his exhaustion. Each curl of wood was another talley that marked another combination of variables that failed. Even though they were carried away, skittering along the ground like a pack of Rattata on rocky soil, Kirlia would not forget the lesson each of them had taught him. So he tweaked his recipe and lurched-

Metal screeched against stone somewhere behind him. The Psychic-type's eyes jolted open and his hand gripped his dagger tight as he twirled around. There, along the cliff where the Guild's cabin was perched, a blue shape with a splash of vibrant red plummeted down as he left a scar in the face of the stone. He recognized it instantly as his third flame swept to life, overshadowing its sibling, as Riley absurdly dropped from the sky like he thought he was a warrior sent from the heavens.

The scrap of metal broke off in the wall, and the blue figure tumbled down to the barren ground with a soft _thump_. Riley caught himself on his feet and hands, held himself for a moment, and then glared over at Kirlia. In that instant, Kirlia knew for a fact that Riley was here to fight.

…

As Riley hit the ground, catching himself on his feet and his hands like a cat, he paused. Consciously he didn't know why, he felt perfectly fine, but it was a little part of him in the back of his mind, awakened by Rose when she ranted to him on top of the clock tower. _A fall like that should've crippled you_ , it said. _Yet here you stand, not a scratch on you. How's that?_

He wasn't listening to himself. From the moment he landed, perhaps a bit before then, Riley could feel the intense discontent in Kirlia's glare before he even saw the Psychic-type. The feeling was mutual, and it was good to know, but he had expected that from the moment he grasped onto the idea.

Riley stood up to face Kirlia, and found that the boy's eyes were just as intense as they felt. Even from this distance on a day as dull as this, they gleamed coldly like stars observed from upon the mountain tops. His mouth was a faint line, no scowl, no smile, merely the crease of disgruntled diplomacy would be all the intruder would get. Riley matched them, one for one, and walked forward through the barren rocky field.

Kirlia spoke first, shouting into the wind. "What do you want?" His voice was alarmingly dry and weak, revolting to his own ears, but there was nothing to be done.

"To talk," Riley answered. It was true, technically, regardless of how it would end up. The cold wind stopped blowing, and the ashy sky above stirred and shifted.

Kirlia laughed. "Awfully flashy if you just wanna talk," he mocked. "Trying to impress me? Or were the stairs too far for you?" At the word 'impress,' he remembered Riley's partners. Briefly he glanced up to the top of the cliff, where he could see the top of Blaziken's cream-colored crest of feathers, as well as the two small Pokemon that had taken Riley in peering just over the edge. _I see…_ he thought.

"The shortest distance between two points. 'Cause I wanna cut straight to it." That, as well as the thrill of the fall. His grin mixed with a grimace to form a smile that brandished his canine fangs like a small arsenal. "Do you know how long you've been here?"

"Yeah. Why do you care?" Kirlia scoffed.

"Because your partners care," Riley answered. "You haven't been going with them lately. No, you've been too busy working the pole to hang with them."

"So what?"

"'So what?'" Riley threw up his paws. "Don't you care about them?"

Kirlia shut his eyes, shook his head, and turned around as a short, exasperated sigh escaped him. "I'm not having this conversation again. Especially not with you," he claimed. "Go away. I can't practice with someone like you breathing down my neck."

"Screw that," spat Riley. "That's not gonna get me to leave. We _both_ know that."

"Go. Away," Kirlia insisted. "This isn't any of your concern."

"What is, your stupid training?" he scoffed. Riley was carefully studying the Psychic-type, and to his pleasure, he noticed that Kirlia twitched at his remark. His head tilted to one side, and the fingers on his left hand flexed into a fist briefly. That was when Riley realized that, to turn this in his favor, he had to provoke Kirlia. Thanks to the excursion into the desert, and being caught and scolded by their Guildmaster, he knew just where to aim.

The Fighting-type quickly took a breath while he put on a smile, far brighter and more mocking than he had felt. "Oh, I get it!" he shouted after him. "You're here to train to be a better swordsman, aren't you?! Trying to make your dad proud!"

Kirlia froze in place. The dagger slid out of his hand and clattered on the ground. Another cold gale blew in from the south, picking up dust and pebbles and carrying them across the barren field. Kirlia's emerald hair, thick and short and dirty, violently flickered in its wake. Riley's scarlet scarf, perpetually sunbaked, trailed out in front of him and danced in his path.

Slowly, Kirlia turned around. His fists were clenched and his teeth bared. The third fire had consumed him, engulfing the other two flames in its ugly radiance. Riley did not falter. Their glares locked, eyes red like a beating heart clashing with eyes red like welded metal. The unplaceable emotion witnessed in the desert had resurfaced on Kirlia's face, somewhere between rage and grief, bringing an odd shimmer to his complexion that made his glare quake.

"You have three seconds to take that back, and run," Kirlia patiently explained. It was painfully obvious that it was a great effort for him not to immediately lash out.

For an instant, Riley felt a flash of fear. The rational part of his mind had suggested taking him up on that offer. After all, Kirlia too was stubborn, so changing his mind would be next to impossible. And yet he didn't listen. It was a part of some half-baked plan he had formed on the spot and, to him, made some sense, and from the intensity in Kirlia's glare, it seemed to be working. In less than a minute he'd have the Psychic-type right where he wanted him.

While this was true, it was not the only reason. For as scrawny and fragile as Kirlia appeared, he was anything but. Kirlia had been an Explorer since he was first capable of fighting, and even at his age, he wasn't too far behind the more hardened Guildmembers- _Veterans_ , they were called. Riley didn't know all of the gossip surrounding him. He didn't know that the younger members, his peers, would think of Kirlia as a young vet. His elders regarded him cautiously, not for his strength, but rather for his instability. Riley's ears were sharp, but he hadn't bothered to pick up any rumors. They mattered not when Riley already knew what Kirlia was: dangerous. If he pressed too hard, Kirlia might snap and cut him. One of the few thoughts that had been in Riley's head ever since he woke up in this world was this: there is nothing stupider yet more thrilling than walking the razor's edge. The passionate contempt in Kirlia's eyes made listening to the rational voice impossible; he would beat his will into the son of a bitch one way or another.

"Don't bother counting," Riley told him. "I didn't come here just to walk away at empty threats."

"'Empty?'" Kirlia cocked his head to the side. A coy smile emerged on his lips. "Do you not know what that word means? Or are you just daft?"

The Riolu grinned back at him. He stopped walking, raised his left hand, and pointed accusingly at Kirlia. "Do you expect me to be afraid of a swordsman who uses his flashy tricks more than his sword? I always see you using those damned Psychic moves. Do you see Gallade relying on all his gimmicks?"

Kirlia took a quick breath. He bent down, picked up his dagger, and pointed the tip of the blade at Riley. "I tried to give you a chance," he said. "Riley, Riolu of origins unknown, I challenge you to a duel."

Internally, Riley was eagerly screeching. He had to hold back a beaming childish smile. He was in the car to his own version of Disneyworld, and he could see the spires and fireworks in the distance. Externally, he nodded his head and grinned. "I thought you'd never ask," said he. "Want to make this more interesting and put some stakes on this?"

"It goes without saying."

"Heh. Alright. When I win, you have to crawl back to your team with your tail between your legs, and apologize for being an asshole to them. And they can't know you were forced to. Just get what's coming to you," Riley explained daringly. "Sound good?"

Kirlia was silent for a moment. Only a moment. There was a malevolently playful grin in his eyes as he smirked at the Riolu. "Plenty good," he answered. "And if _I_ win this duel, you have to leave the guild in its entirety. Leave for wherever your home is- if you can even remember. I won't even use my _flashy tricks_ , if they concern you so much."

Riley was also silent for a moment. For many moments. The pleas of the reasonable part of his mind did not fall on deaf ears. _Run out of here, you idiot! What're you here for? A fight? Partners that not even Kirlia cares about? It's not worth it! Bail! Bail!_ Such words were short and panicked, but they did resonate with the main part of his mind. The Guild was the only home he knew, and he did love the jobs that came with it. They were growing boring, sure, and yet there was great potential in them. There was nothing else he'd rather do. Being banished over a duel like this… _wouldn't happen_. It was another part of him, somewhere latched onto the front of his adolescent mind, that assured the boy. _You'll kick his ass. You won't have to leave the Guild behind. Not because of an arrogant prick like him._

Riley believed it. He whispered the phrase himself. "Not because of an arrogant prick like you." The gale stopped. Dust settled, and the curls of wood were now far away. The post, too, had been knocked over and rolled some thirty yards before colliding with a warped pillar of stone. The trail of red fabric draped down to Riley's knee, where it rested in a gradual sway. Even on this dark day, clouds above now darker and the preluding scent of rain hanging in the air, its hue of red was more vibrant, more otherworldly, than it had ever been. "You've got yourself a duel," Riley exclaimed. He formed a fist in his right hand and pounded it into the palm of his left. It stung the pad of his paw.

And thus began what Kirlia would mentally dub _The Incomplete Duel_.

…

Duels were a thing of unknown origin, predating the records of history in every civilized land. The northern deserts of Implentur, the eastern mountainous lands of Baltre, even the savage Makoto to the east had the same dueling rituals. They were a noble practice known to any warrior, no matter what they called themself in the land they came from. Since Majula previously had no warriors, the first Guildmaster Garchomp had introduced it to his own kids not long after opening up the Guild. And of course, as children do when they see something cool, they unknowingly bastardized it.

The rituals of a duel had been thought-out and were sacred for many. Duels were not declared lightly. Losing one would be offering your life into your opponent's hands, and if they let you live (which they often did, for killing a fellow warrior was frowned upon), it would still heavily ruin your reputation and your rank. In the Guild, the word "duel" would be evoked improperly at least once a week. _Glorified sparring matches_ , Blaziken would mutter under her breath. It was not too long ago that she had been a knight herself, dueling with her captain. Now even the word- just the sound of the word felt so noble, so proud, so graceful, so powerful- meant little to her. This match, what Kirlia would dub _The Incomplete Duel_ , would be the only true duel she had seen in the past four years.

Riley picked up the ritual quickly after a short explanation. He and Kirlia stood sixty yards apart from one another with their eyes locked. Kirlia, holding an Iron Thorn in his left hand, dragged it behind him as he began to pace to his right. Riley did the same, scraping the twisted piece of metal against the stone and leaving behind him a trail of gray on the reddish tan ground. Step by step, their paths formed a messy curved line that would be the boundary. Until the duel was resolved, neither participant would be allowed to leave. Fighting must remain in the boundaries. It was a conflict solely for them, fought in boundaries made solely by them, and was essentially a quarantine for animosity until they got it out of their system.

The arena was half-formed now. Two quarter-circles opposite each other were gradually being expanded in a methodical waltz. They mirrored each other, stepping in unison, etching in unison, glaring in unison. Riley clenched his fist as his heart pulsed in his chest. Anxiously he swallowed with the naive nervousness of a boy going on his first date. Kirlia's heart also pulsed, but there was no nervousness. His other hand brandished his dagger tucked into his sheath ( _Audino will talk my ear off if I give you to her bruised. Cut and bleeding? She'll put me in the bed next to yours_ , he had taunted) and was absolutely, patiently, still. No, his heart had beat out of anger and exhaustion and will. His heart was beating wildly because his blood was boiling, boiling from the three fires that still raged inside him.

Two trails connected with one another, the start of one meeting the end of another. Dark gray paths formed their ring, their inescapable arena. The very instant Riley's Iron Thorn completed the circuit, he tossed it aside and dashed forward. Kirlia threw his own and gracefully ran to meet him in the center. There was a brief moment of calm but tense silence, a respite between the scraping metal and the clashing of the boys that wore the hats of soldiers and officers. It was the space between the rumble of drums and the explosion of strings and winds that form the orchestra, a moment filled with anticipation and eagerness. Eagerness, to put that arrogant prick in his place. Eagerness, to be rid of that furry pest that wanted so badly to be some kind of hero. Eagerness, to watch the duel between the Guild's princeling and the wild rookie. Eagerness, for violence, as all duels had begun throughout history.

In the middle they met with a bone-rattling collision. Riley threw himself forward with his fist launching out in front of him, which Kirlia caught on the hilt of his dagger. It did not shatter, nor even crack, but merely remained still as he resisted being forced backwards. There they stood for but an instant, glares still locked as they pushed against one another, until Kirlia took the first move. He struck Riley's wrist with his offhand and swept the fist to the side. The Riolu pivoted in the direction of his misdirected arm, twirling around as he conjured an Iron Tail and swung it at Kirlia's head. Kirlia raised his left hand to catch and redirect it, but he had underestimated the force within the Iron Tail, and his arm buckled back as he staggered backwards. Riley spun back around and lurched for him. His left fist swung forward and crashed into Kirlia's chest, and the Psychic-type started to collapse and sprawl out on the floor.

Time seemed to freeze. Kirlia was suspended in the air, red eyes open and mouth hung ajar in a pained grimace, and those few frames in time stuck with Riley. To his dying day that fraction of a second would make him smile, for that was the fraction of a second that Riley could see genuine surprise on Kirlia's face. In the blink of an eye Riley had managed to force it into Kirlia's head that this would not be an easy victory. Indeed, he would have to actually try.

Kirlia was in motion the instant he hit the ground. He curled his body tight, rolled back, and vaulted up to his feet. Riley leapt forward with his fist leading the way, but Kirlia easily stepped out of the way. His offhand snatched Riley by the wrist and yanked the Fighting-type to him, and his main hand thrusted into him. The tip of the dagger, made blunt by the leather sheath, jabbed into Riley's chest, and twisted it. Air busted out of the Riolu's muzzle as he bent over the weapon, stunned. Quickly Kirlia withdrew the dagger and shot it forward, and then once more, giving Riley two more marks neighboring the first. The fist loosened up and retracted to Riley's chest. Kirlia took a step forward and grasped the Riolu's neck with his offhand, and again their faces were inches apart. The eyes of the princeling glared into the eyes of the wild rookie for a moment, but nothing was said, and Kirlia forcefully pushed the Riolu away. He collapsed onto the stone.

"Dead," stated Kirlia frigidly. He lowered the dagger to his hip and stepped back, glaring down at the Fighting-type with an icy glare. Riley coughed hoarsely as he pressed his paws against the points of impact. He opened his eyes and shook his head.

"N… Not quite yet." Riley sat up and got back to his feet. "You got me good." He was smiling now, wiping at his muzzle and inspecting his paw. There was dirt but no blood. He flexed another fist and pounded it into the pad of his left paw, and again Riley brandished his grin. Kirlia did not move in the slightest. The Riolu dashed in with a Quick Attack and swung another clenched fist. His target gracefully stepped to the side with his dagger drawn back. Riley twisted his body in the air as he dashed past Kirlia.

 _How did he do it again?_ Riley thought from a part of his mind that was neither the deep crevices or the rough exterior. _Hands were flat, and then his wrists went… something like…_ The dagger darted towards him, and he grabbed the fragmented thought as it was printing. Riley brought his paws back behind him and placed them flat on the ground. As hard as he could he pushed off the ground, launching himself into the air tumbling in a blur of blue and black and red.

Riley landed on his paws not far from where he jumped, and the instant he was grounded, he burst forward with yet another Quick Attack. A punch caught Kirlia between his strides and sent him staggering backwards. An instant later and Riley was upon him again, swinging his other fist up into the Psychic-type's jaw. His teeth banged together with a _crack_ that echoed in his head and drowned out all conscious thought. Kirlia was lifted into the air, unable to move himself, unable to feel himself, as a memory flashed in his head. It would only grow into a memory later, but when his fist connected with Kirlia's jaw, Riley heard a phrase in a language he did not recognize. _Saisho wa guu_ , or something weird like that. It's definition was lost on him, but he knew what the spark of a memory wanted him to do.

The jackal lowered himself to spread his feet apart, entering a stance he felt was probably right. He put his left hand forward, paw open, and clenched his other fist near his hip. _Deep breath_ … The aura in him flowed around him, caressing his fur with its warm touch like a summer breeze, as if it was a material object instead of an eldritch essence he neither could nor cared to understand. This energy (calling it something as simple as _aura_ was probably bastardizing its actual nature, but it hadn't stopped anyone before or after from calling it so) swelled around his fist, curling around it, and it was ready. When Riley first used this move on Breloom it had taken seconds to prepare itself. Now, not even a full second passed before it was ready.

The Force Palm exploded into his opponent's stomach and dug into the pale flesh. Spittle sprayed from Kirlia's mouth as he was shot backwards. His attacker, the wild rookie, just stood there behind that blooming astral flower of aura.

Riley beamed as he looked down to his paw, where wisps of aura were melting away in front of his eyes and returning to whatever reserve they emerged from. He could still feel the echo of the impact on his knuckles, and he relished it. This was a similar experience that many young warriors of this world had undergone when testing their own limits. To experience one's own power often brought out a shameful glee. But in his own world, this feeling would be treated so lightly. In his own world, it would have been diagnosed as arousal.

On the other hand, there was Kirlia, splayed out on the ground with his head and chest outside the bounds of their arena. His throat was a blazing desert from which he could only form dry gasps. His mind, too, was nothing but golden dunes that went on forever. Everything was warped by the shimmering heat. All there was to see and feel was fire. His burning body, and his burning will, and his burning anger… they consumed him.

With a dry roar, Kirlia struggled to his feet, and gripped his weapon fiercely. Across from him, Riley stood grinning in childish excitement at his fist, which regularly clenched and unclenched to grasp and relive a wraith of its strength. Kirlia took a short, wheezing breath that hissed through his teeth, and when Riley looked back up to him, Kirlia was upon him. With a few leaping strides he had closed the gap and jabbed his blade into the Riolu's chest. Riley reeled back, but Kirlia's offhand lurched forward and gripped into his neck with the ungiving force of a Crawdaunt's claw. There was another jab, and another, and another, and another, digging into his ribs and his gut in a random spread. He hadn't even bothered counting. He just went and went until Riley had broken out of his grasp, staggering backwards and crumpling up on the floor.

"D…" Kirlia stole a gulp of air and, once again, stepped back. He stared down at Riley, who gasped and coughed with his arms clutching his torso as he writhed in the dirt. "Dead," claimed he, standing absolutely still.

The first droplet of rain struck the top of Kirlia's head, prompting him to look up at a sky now consumed in ashy gray. Friends of the droplet were following in its stead and plummeting to earth. One by one, dozens of them, hundreds of them, thousands of them plummeted down in the first major rain of the season. It was gentle at first, as it always is, but within seconds it had grown to become a chorus of toneless drums. And it was joined by an inexperienced singer: the laughter of the Riolu. He was clutching his stomach as he rolled onto his back, kicking his legs in the air and raising his snout to the sky.

"Holy hell, I must've hit you hard," Riley chortled, shaking his head and casually pulling himself to his feet. He brandished his grin again. "You seem pissed. Did a-"

"This is a duel, fuckwit," Kirlia spat, raising the dagger. "Shut your trap and hit me."

Riley clapped his fist into his wet palm. "Fair 'nough."

And so the dance continued. Kirlia elegantly waltzed around him and kept to his form, thrusting the sheathed blade precisely and tactfully at his opponent. Riley bobbed between them the best he could to stay on him and throw a fist whenever he had the window. Jabs were exchanged, but now they did not signal a break in the performance. They were not delivered in groups and sealed with one climactic attack. It was a proper dance where blow was countered with another blow with no respite for either dancer.

The duel was all Riley had hoped for and more. The Wild Pokemon could hit hard, but even someone like him had enough skill to deal with most of the Pokemon he had encountered in the dungeons without much effort. Here he had finally found a match with an opponent much more talented than he, an actual trained combatant, and he couldn't be happier. _This_ was what he had been craving. Every jab that hit the Riolu was euphoric in its pain. Every punch that he threw back at him sent a shiver down his arm and left Riley yearning for more. The duel had become a game, if it ever truly was a duel in the first place. Even in his head, his thoughts had been replaced by music. Shredding guitars played alongside violins and drums in some awesome hybrid that puppeted him around with the sheer power of hype.

It shouldn't be surprising that later on Riley would dream and relive the match, but he would never remember it clearly. When one combination of attacks ended, the two would suddenly jump to another part of the arena and continue fighting. In a way it was like watching a corrupted video file, although it did provide a different show every time it was viewed. Even when he was living through the duel, in some strange way, it felt like he was rewatching it, but he never noticed it. Excitement has a way of eating away that nagging feeling of deja vu.

Kirlia stepped back and swiped at his opponent's head in two quick slashes. The first grazed his ear, and the second hit him square in the muzzle as Riley lurched forward. Aura again swelled around his fist and expelled itself in one astral burst as his palm connected to Kirlia's chin. The Psychic-type staggered backwards, but managed to keep his footing just in time to catch an oncoming Iron Tail from his greedy opponent. He blocked it with his dagger, giving him just enough time to step fully out of the way and punish him.

The memory cut.

Now they were on the edge of the arena next to the discarded training dummy, caught on the warped stone pillars. Kirlia dodged a fist and gripped it by the forearm, yanking Riley towards him. Two quick jabs of the dagger caught Riley in the gut. The Riolu squirmed to get free, but to no avail. Kirlia cocked his arm back and bashed his elbow into the side of Riley's head. Dazed, his opponent collapsed onto the wet ground. "Dead." Kirlia cracked his neck, and the dance continued without hesitation.

The memory cut.

They were in the center of the arena now. Riley ducked under one of Kirlia's thrusts and dashed forward with a Quick Attack. His knee drove into Kirlia's chest. Something snapped as it dug in, forcing the air from his lungs and fogging Kirlia's vision. A beaming Riolu then formed an Iron Tail and flipped in the air, crashing it into the top of Kirlia's head and spiking him to the ground. There Kirlia laid, gasping and choking on the rain, as he struggled to regain his strength. The echo of the impact still rung through the Riolu like an aftershock, and he savored it. The feeling was orgasmic.

He was about to taunt him, but Kirlia roared before him. His first fresh gasp of breath was expelled in a wrathful battle cry as he threw the sheathed blade into Riley's chest, pushing him off his feet. Kirlia scrambled to his feet and caught the dagger on the rebound and attacked again, and again, and again, and again, finishing the flurry off with a kick to Riley's snout. He recoiled, clutching the tip of his nose, but his grin did not fade.

The memory cut.

Back to the center, more or less. A repeated series of thrusts swarmed at Riley as Kirlia pressed forward. The wet leather sheath lunged forward and retracted in a blur. Every time the jackal stepped to the side, he would be caught by a firm stab to his shoulders, or his arms, or his torso. They were not attacks to Riley, but merely a means to toy with him, to keep him in line like a dog nipping at his heels. He glared forward, teeth bared, into the cold, unrelenting face of Kirlia. _So this is the game now, is it?_ he thought bitterly. _Alright. I know just how to play this one_.

Riley dashed backwards with a Quick Attack. Kirlia lurched to follow him, but took not more than a single step before his offhand grasped the trailing end of the scarlet scarf. Even when damp it was warm. The jackal abruptly froze in the air as the fabric constricted around his neck. Its heat was suffocating him. He crumpled on the floor, gasping and choking, as a wet ball of fur. Even then, perhaps more than ever, the scarf was soothing to him.

Between his coughs, the scarf further tightened around his neck as he was lifted off the ground. Kirlia had anchored himself in place and yanked with both hands. He whirled him around in the air like a flail, like the pebble of David, increasing in speed with each lap. One, then two, then three, then four, until it seemed more as if Riley was soaring on his own and Kirlia merely guided him like a kite. Kirlia bared his teeth and swung it above him to his momentum in an upward arc and crashing the Riolu into the ground. The thin layer of water splashed out. Riley could feel stone shifting and cracking under him as he writhed around clutching his throat. Desperately he forced one paw between his neck and his scarf, granting him a thin passage of air. He gasped, filling his burning lungs with air. Pain reverberated through his body. For a few seconds he couldn't feel his legs. His entire being felt numb.

The memory cut.

Still in the center. Kirlia kept him at a distance with his lunge-and-press and pushed in towards Riley's space with a flurry of thrusts. Riley weaved between them to the best of his ability, managing only to be grazed by most of them, but he still hated the feeling of being toyed with.

"Screw this," he spat, jumping backwards as far as he could manage with the damp trail of his scarf clinging to his chest. The Riolu raised his tail behind him and transmuted it into an Iron Tail. In turn, Kirlia took a single step back and entered the stance he had taken when practicing with the wooden post, the stance akin to his father's. For an instant, neither moved, and instead only locked eyes as they challenged one another. Only for an instant.

In a blur Riley closed the distance with a Quick Attack. He was soaring through the air like a bullet, pivoting just before his jump to swing the Iron Tail at Kirlia's left side. Kirlia grit his teeth and pushed himself into the attack to counter with his own force. Only, when he made contact with the Iron Tail, the metal coat seemed to melt away in the rain, and he only caught a limp tail. Kirlia pushed himself too hard in that direction and stumbled out of his stance. Riley whirled around in the air and swept at Kirlia's legs, bringing the Psychic-type to the ground. He tried to get up, but was swiftly pinned as the Riolu landed on top of him and straddled his waist.

When the first fist fell into his chest, hitting his helpless opponent, there was something bittersweet about it. The punch itself did not give him the same satisfaction, the same shiver as the force's counterpart ran back up his arm. Hitting a downed enemy just wasn't the same. But, it was still sweet. As the second fist fell next to the first it served only to cement this in Riley's head: he had earned it. He'd brought the arrogant prick to the ground and took complete advantage of it. Each one stroked his ego further. Two punches became four, and then became eight, until they were pistons, falling upon Kirlia like the rain. Dark bruises formed on his pale skin. Riley could feel ribs cracking and snapping under his knuckles. It was only when he felt his own muscles burning that he stopped. Riley locked his paws together and focused his aura around them. Proudly he raised them above his head, fangs bared and eyes ablaze, and slammed them down into Kirlia's stomach. It seemingly caved in. The subject squirmed under him.

The jackal jumped off of him and panted heavily as he watched his opponent. Kirlia was quivering in the thin puddle of rain, uttering gargled gasps as he struggled for breath. He turned his head to the side and spat a sickening brew of blood and vomit. He gasped, then croaked, then growled, and grasped his dagger firmly as he pulled himself to his feet.

"Dead," Riley smirked.

"F…" Kirlia shook his head and began lumbering forward. "Far from it."

The memory cut.

The dance brought them to the near edge of the arena, exchanging harder, more compact blows. Kirlia took a punch to the jaw and the chest. Riley received a jab to the gut and the throat in return. Even they knew from their movements alone that the end was near, and that was fine. Both of them were burning, muscles and wills alike, and the unrelenting weather only stoked the flames.

Riley gathered aura around his left paw and lunged forward to his opponent. As it bloomed outward and forward, Kirlia deftly jumped back and cocked back his dagger. With two graceful strides he was upon Riley again and driving the tip into the center of his chest. The Riolu was knocked off his feet and nearly fell on his back, but he caught himself with his paws and flipped himself upright again. He stood on the tips of his toes, gently bobbing back and forth with his fists held in front of him, but abruptly stopped when he realized that Kirlia was not approaching.

The Psychic-type closed his eyes and took a deep, meditative breath. With slow but steady movements, he gripped the hilt of his blade in both hands, one wrapping around the other, and held it out in front of him. When Kirlia opened his eyes again, the fire in them was no longer raging. They just glowed with heat like molten metal tamely sitting inside a mold. Wordlessly, Riley nodded and entered the mock-stance he had taken earlier, hips lowered, feet spread, one paw held open in front of him and the other closed at his hip. Again the aura ebbed and swelled around it until every drop of it was loaded in the chamber, compacted into his veins and his muscles. The toneless drone of the rain surrounded them. Far away to the south, the sky rumbled with a crash of thunder. Neither of them knew exactly what they were waiting for, but it wasn't long until it came and signaled them.

The two sprinted towards each other. Kirlia held his dagger in front of him, hilt against his shoulder and tip pointing forward, following behind his weapon as it lead him on his elegant charge. Riley ran in with his fist dramatically held out behind him like a grenade, and held it with none of the tact and care that such would deserve. The space between them was closed before they knew it.

With all of his strength, Kirlia thrusted his dagger forward with his signature serene savagery, aiming exactly where the Riolu's head was supposed to be. Only, it wasn't. Riley ducked down and vanished in a blur with a Quick Attack. He came to a skidding halt immediately behind Kirlia, who had thrown himself with his attack, and threw the loaded punch. Kirlia turned his head, mouth ajar and eyes stretched open, to just catch Riley out of the corner of his vision. He could see the charged punch barreling in as its wielder smugly grinned, eyes blazing, with one thought written upon the Fighting-type: _Here you go, you arrogant princeling! This is what you get!_ Kirlia clenched his teeth, and decided that he wasn't going to lose because of a trick like this.

Kirlia flicked his wrist, and Riley abruptly froze in the air as he was clutched in his Psychic. He was pushed off his feet and thrown backwards spiraling uncontrollably. His fist grazed the wet ground, and the aura within it exploded outwards with droplets and chunks of stone. Riley skipped along the thin puddle far out of the boundaries of their arena, came to a screeching halt, and then laid sprawled out in the rain. Kirlia himself almost fell on his back, but had just managed to catch himself. Both of them were panting heavily.

"Get up," ordered Kirlia through his teeth. "I'm not done with you, you bastard."

To which, Riley snickered. It was tamer, much tamer than he had been moments ago. "Yeah, you are," the boy told him.

Instantly the dagger was raised and aimed at the Fighting-type's smirk, determined to carve it off. "Not by a long shot. Get back in here so I can finish this already," he growled, shredding his throat in the process.

Snickering turned to chortling. "Don't you get it?!" Riley taunted. "I just broke your jaw, at _least!_ I won!"

"Are you blind? You didn't even touch me," Kirlia spat. "I pushed-..." Silence. Riley flashed a tamer, mocking grin and shook his head in disappointment. The dagger fell out of Kirlia's hand and clattered on the ground. All the resentment in Kirlia's face flickered out and died in a matter of seconds. His eyes were empty, his mouth was cracked open like an infant's, his bruise-covered face was expressionless. "I… pushed you away…" he murmured.

The Riolu sat himself up and went in for the killing blow. "But you couldn't get past your gimmicks, could you? You've been training your ass off for a week, give or take, and look at where it's gotten you."

"Pushed… no…" The Psychic-type raised his hand to his face. His nails raked his pale skin, leaving thin cuts along his cheek. He was seething. "No… Damn it…!" Something escaped between his breaths that was either a hiss or a sob.

Riley wore an exhausted, content smirk as he sat back and watched the product of his labor from afar. At last, Kirlia was broken, and victory was his. It was a victory whose aftermath was more satisfying than if he had landed the punch on his jaw. Here he got to see a prideful man come to terms with the fact that he had not only lost, but had admitted mid-fight that he was inferior. Riley laid down and closed his eyes, no longer caring what happened now that his strength was gone.

The last thing he remembered was Kirlia's piercing roar, a sharp increase in gravity, and a loud series of _crunches_ and _snaps_ before he was swallowed by the writhing blackness. Finally the memory ended.


	24. Chapter 24: The Prince's Pride: Part 2

Yet again Riley was alone in the realm of the writhing blackness that eerily but graciously trickled his memories back to him. His body was gone. The outside world was irrelevant. The duel from moments ago didn't matter anymore. Riley was just there for the show. His own show. He watched with fascination, for today the blackness provided him with the face and identity of Riley's phantom brother, amongst a whole flood of information.

The two of them were in front of a thick, ancient computer monitor mounted on a desk stained with circles of coffee glued around the keyboard. Though his eyes were fixed on the monitor, other things flagged in his head about this room. It was downstairs in the back of the basement, and was what his phantom father had called an 'office.' It was generous to even call it that. No windows, bleak counters with cardboard boxes of ten year old school supplies, a whiteboard with Riley's childish scribbling stained in sharpie… Besides the computer, it was mostly used for storage. Shelves up near the ceiling, far out of Riley's reach, held dozens of shoe boxes filled with memorabilia that he had only heard of in passing. His phantom father's party days, his phantom brother's trip to camp, his phantom mother's days in the Peace Corps…

All these things assaulted him so suddenly that Riley was almost too busy remembering to grasp the memory being showed to him. Out of the corner of his vision he could see his brother fully, and remember his identity fully. His name was Luke, and he was six years older than Riley. At the time of this memory he appeared to be somewhere around fifteen, maybe sixteen, with short black hair and brown eyes. Presumably Riley looked similar, but he could not see his own reflection in the monitor. Oddly, Luke's own skin was tanner than Riley's bland peach skin. The swarming blackness was not kind enough to provide any further information as to why.

The memory itself was incredibly simple: they were huddled around the monitor watching a show. He even knew what show they were watching. It was an episode of _One Piece_ , at the end of the Alabasta arc, as the protagonist and current-antagonist confronted each other in a tomb underneath the capitol. A rubber boy in a red vest and blue shorts named _Luffy_ fought against an eccentric-looking mafioso, complete with slicked-back hair and a fur coat draped over his shoulders, dubbed _Crocodile_. It was the climax, given from the higher quality of animation and the swelling of orchestral music, as a storm of fists launched _Crocodile_ high into the air until he hit the ceiling. _Luffy_ did not stop there, however, as the punches kept stretching up to meet him and snapping back only to make the journey again. The ceiling began to break. _Crocodile_ , long-since unconscious, was plowed through the bedrock and rocketed through the city streets above. At long last, after nearly sixty episodes, they had won.

The younger Riley struggled to repress his giddy laughter. His fists curled over his lips to mask his beaming smile. "Holy crap," he squealed. "That was freaking awesome!"

"Yeah," Luke replied, dutifully nodding with a smirk. The screen transitioned to show the rest of the main cast, just finished in conquering their own adversities, beaming in excitement and relief upon seeing the main villain high in the air for all to see. With a short triumphant riff of violins, it cut to the usual stylized "To Be Continued" end-card. "God, it's been so long since I've rewatched this…"

Younger Riley turned to look at his brother, revealing that Luke had a small X-shaped scar across his nose from a dog bite years back. Older Riley noticed the walls behind them were painted in the churning backness with their soft toneless gurgling underlining their conversation. Younger Riley didn't take notice.

"Luffy is damn cool," the boy admired. Luke nodded as he took hold of the mouse and clicked for the next episode to start loading. "I wish I could be like him."

"Well…" Luke hesitated. "He's a hero, no doubt. Not noble, but admirable. There's certainly worse people to look up to. Though personally, I prefer Usopp. That guy's a frickin' G."

"Usopp?" Younger Riley scoffed. "He's alright, but why him? He's the weakest. Even Nami could beat him, probably."

"You're kidding," Luke patronizingly chuckled.

"I'm _not_." Riley stamped his foot on the carpeted floor. "He's the lamest Straw Hat."

Luke shook his head. The opening began to play, and the older brother focused his attention on this. "You'll change your mind later on," the older brother predicted. The younger wasn't happy, but he too was hypnotized by the opening.

The warbling blackness creeped in as the episode played, and by the time the opening finished he was devoured by it, cutting the memory off.

...

When Riley awoke again he was on his back, relaxing to the sound of drizzling rain against glass, hypnotizing him into a meditative state. His first thought, even before recalling the events of the memory, was how alone he felt in his own mind. It was noticeable immediately, for he felt colder and calmer than usual, physically and mentally. It was off-putting, but withstandable, especially considering that the lone part of his mind moved on shortly after.

It moved on to something incredibly simple, but it was long overdue: _I have a family_. What he knew was scarce, merely the identity of his brother and an increased size in the phantom family, but that didn't change the basic fact: _I have a family_. A family he hadn't seen in… weeks, at least, that he could barely remember more than tidbits about. Everything they had done to him had been lost. Everything about him was lost. His entire life was lost. It was only now that Riley had realized what his amnesia meant, and to his surprise, he was okay with that. Though Riley wanted to know who he was, he was in no rush. The knowledge alone that he had a family was comforting enough. There was a place for him, even if he didn't know where it was in relation to this surprisingly-similar alien world.

And his third thought, banishing the melancholy of the first two, was the realization that he had awoken under the begrudgingly familiar white sheets of the infirmary. _Oh, right. All that happened, didn't it?_ He blinked the weariness out of his eyes and quickly took in the room. Audino was there behind her desk as usual, reading through her book and humming to herself a tune Riley didn't recognize. The cover wasn't legible from this distance, but from its silver and black and red color scheme, it seemed to be some kind of dramatic mystery, or perhaps a romance. Across from Riley's temporary bed there was another companion: a Pikachu who tiredly swayed her foot from side to side as she looked out the window. Whether she knew it or not, she was synced up to the song Audino was humming. Her right arm was bound in bandages, and her ear on the same side had a clean gash splitting it down the middle.

Riley took in a harsh breath, sat up in bed in a relaxed manner, and said what was on his mind: "I thought I told myself I'd stop waking up in here."

"Everyone does," Audino replied, temporarily pausing her soft melody. "But no one can resist going too long without paying me a visit. You _specifically-_ " she licked her finger, folded the corner of one page, and closed her book, "-seem unable to keep yourself away."

"Well it's not like I wanted to," Riley groggily responded, unable to defend himself.

Audino thought for a moment before reluctantly sighing. "No one ever does; no one ever should," she admitted. "But things like this happen, and kids get brought to me on the verge of death."

"You should see the other guy," Riley joked, pulling that line out of nowhere. Neither of them laughed, prompting Riley to come to a realization: he didn't know where Kirlia was. "Where is he, anyways?" he asked, all humor evaporated away.

"Gallade took him an hour ago," Audino answered through her teeth. "He should be lying down right now, but… The Guildmaster can be… _whimsical_. That's a nice way to phrase it."

The Riolu cocked his head to the side. Last he'd seen Kirlia, he was still standing proud. "W-wait… Hold on. What happened after the duel?"

" _Well_ ," said Audino, taking a deep breath, "My knowledge starts when Blaziken dragged you two in here a good three hours ago. I honestly couldn't tell which one of you was beaten up worse. Still can't decide."

"How bad?"

"Bad," she said. "On you, six broken ribs, a mild concussion, slight muscle degeneration from over-exertion, your left hand was shattered beyond use, and not to mention that part of your muzzle was chipped and twisted. Six teeth were knocked out. Kirlia had it similar, but add one more concussion from a kick to the head. I don't support violence, but Blaziken did what she had to so he didn't injure himself any further."

"Damn..." Riley murmured. He briefly looked down to his previously-shattered fist and flexed it. No pain, no resistance, no delay, no problems. He flicked his eyes back as a question formed in his mind. "Wait, she kicked him?"

"Knocked him out, yeah. She'd deny it- wouldn't even tell me anything more than that you fought- but I can piece things together from the wounds." Audino shook her head. "If I find out she was watching this go on, I'll have to give her a piece of my mind…" Riley speechlessly lowered his head. _God, the stress we put her under..._ The Normal-type took a deep breath and forced herself to smile. "So sorry. I've had this pent up for a few hours now. Didn't mean to do that to you two."

"You're fine." It was the Pikachu who spoke up, feigning that she had only been half-listening. "You've earned the right to blow off a little steam."

"Yes, well, it's unprofessional to show this off in front of my patients," Audino replied, back to her loving, protective self. "Well, Riley, you should be good to go. You're feeling fine, aren't you?"

"Mmhm."

"Just making sure. I managed to piece you back together without _too_ many complications, but it still needs some time to set. Some time tomorrow you'll be back in order, but until then, watch yourself. Chew too hard and you'll push your teeth out of place," she explained.

"Tomorrow?" In his head Riley went through the list of injuries he collected. Broken ribs, broken hand, concussion, muscle… something… Pretty serious injuries regardless. Twelve hours of taking it easy, and he's good to go? "You've gotta be the best medic in the world or something. That's amazing."

Audino bashfully laughed. "W-well, with kids like you, I have no other choice than to be the best," she not-so-subtly bragged. "And if I'm being honest, it's only because you got to me minutes after it happened. If you had to be transported out of a dungeon in the state you were in you'd be bedridden like Aileen here."

Riley's gaze now flicked to the Pikachu, apparently named Aileen, who dropped the act and tamely waved back to him. "Hey there," she greeted. Though his attention was drawn to her torn ear, Riley managed to look her in the eye and wave back.

"Right." Audino reached underneath her desk to remove a folded piece of otherworldly red cloth that captured Riley's attention instantly. "I went ahead and washed this for you. Had to get it out of the way while I was reconstructing, so I took the opportunity. Go ahead and take it."

The Fighting-type almost leapt out of bed right then to snatch the scarf back. It called to him, beckoned him with its sunbaked warmth like a lover's embrace. He had to grip the sheets to remind himself to stay composed, and ask like a rational being would. "Y-you mean I'm free to go?"

"Yep. You're free, so long as you don't get into another fight on your way out. Everything still needs a bit of time to settle," she explained.

Riley tossed the sheets aside and jumped out of bed, hurriedly making his way over to the scarf, and held it with his paw. It was warmer and more soothing than it had ever been, bringing with it the comfort of an open fireplace on a winter evening, or clothes just out of the drier. Ages seemingly passed since he felt this tenderly tepid touch. He brought the scarf to his neck and wove it in a carelessly elaborate bundle, until it lay loosely hugging his neck with one arm draping behind him. They had embraced; a blazing star was born within him.

Audino cleared her throat and dispelled Riley from his hypnosis. The boy shook slightly. " _Anyways_ , they're having dinner in the mess hall. Get out and grab yourself something to eat. You need a good meal," she instructed.

"Right." He left without another word.

When he first opened the door, Riley was flooded with a wave of indecipherable chatter from an uncountable carol of voices. This would not have been unusual if not for how concentrated it was. Normally, somewhere between a third and half of the fellow Explorers would eat in their rooms, thus dividing their voices. Yet from what Riley could hear, and confirmed when walking into the cafeteria, just about everyone was in there. There was some hundred and fifty heads gathered around under the luminescent yellow plates in the ceiling.

It was more baffling that Gallade was amongst them. On the far side of the room the Guildmaster sat behind a long, raised table with the rest of his staff. Rhyperior was on his left, Dusknoir to his right, and the reclusive Ampharos on the far left. There was a blank seat between Rhyperior and Ampharos, and one on the end next to Dusknoir, for the two members missing. They ate alongside the Explorers and talked amongst themselves. Gallade even looked to the Riolu in the doorway, flashed him a smile, and then continued talking to Rhyperior beside him.

Confused, Riley walked over to the kitchen counter to talk to the cooks and, at least, get his food. The trio had all sat down around a kitchen isle stained with green and red juices, playing a game of cards after a hard day's work, all the while exchanging some mild banter. Riley knocked thrice on the counter, gaining him the attention of the cooks. They conversed briefly and pointed fingers at one another until Simisage shook his head, stood up, and made his way over to their customer.

"Whaddya need?" asked the Grass-type.

"Food and an explanation." Riley nodded behind him. "No one mentioned any party, or whatever this is."

"Ha. I know the feeling," Simisage chuckled. "It's a feast. _Normally_ , they're announced a day or two ahead of time, but…" His eyes darted over to the Guildmaster. Gallade met them, flashed him a smile, and then continued speaking to the rest of the staff. Simisage shook his head. "Anyways. They're just to get the Guild together. Nothing special."

Riley turned back around to glance at the tables filled with faces he vaguely recognized as his fellow Explorers, both older and younger, stronger and weaker…He smirked faintly as the jovial atmosphere seeped into him, for he spotted a small table at the near edge where a familiar Roselia and Charmander sat across from none other than an equally familiar Luxio and Buizel _Just to get the Guild together, huh?_ the boy thought. _Weird, but I can get it_. "A feast? Then what d'ya got cooked?" he asked.

"A _lot_ ," Simisage answered. "We've been dancing around the kitchen for-"

"'Ey!" the fiery cook called to him. "You got one minute before I'm skipping your turn."

"It hasn't even _been_ a minute yet, jackass," spat Simisage. "For the love… Alright kid, we got a lot of stuff, but it boils down to meat and a side-dish. And some pastas. And a Highland-style casserole, and some bread."

"Meat and a side sounds good."

"M'kay. Steak and roasted greens?"

"Sure."

Simisage retreated back into the kitchen, dancing around the steam-tables where the food was kept warm, plucking the food off with wooden tongs and delicately placing it on a plate, garnishing it with a single slice of lemon, and proceeded to place it on the counter paired with a fork and dull knife.

"Enjoy."

"Thanks."

They parted ways. The cook returned to the relaxed card game, snatching the deck from the table and dexterously shuffling it in his hands, whilst Riley grabbed his plate and breached the maze of Explorers that lined the tables. Pokemon that he barely knew but vaguely recognized from all around the Guild, faces in the crowd in the morning. It didn't take long before he was within earshot of his team, where Buizel was seemingly leading a somber conversation.

"... at least I got to talk to him for a bit," Buizel said optimistically. "I'm not gonna lie and say 'it was all I could hope for,' but… But, it was something. I needed something."

Riley plopped down next to the Charmander, breaking whatever mood had been established, and catching the attention of the group. Buizel forced himself to smirk. "'Ey, look who's up," he observed. "How're you feeling?"

"Sore as all hell, but pretty good overall," answered Riley. He grabbed the fork and began to saw a piece of his steak off with the edge. "Confused, too. Wasn't expecting you guys to be sitting together."

Pyro shrugged. "They're good Pokemon, and they looked like they could use the company. Why wouldn't we?"

"Yeah," Luxio agreed. "We're not exactly strangers anymore, right? Sitting together at a feast should kinda be expected." Riley mulled it over briefly before nodding in approval.

Rose piped up impatiently to claim the wheel of the conversation. "Sorry Buizel, but I'm gonna change the topic here to-"

"Don't worry about it, I was done anyways," Buizel said.

"-to something I've been thinking about for a while now," she finished. "Your fight with Kirlia. Do you think you could explain what happened at the end there?"

"What-" Riley darted his eyes to the other team warily. Buizel's smirk had calmed into a small curl that wasn't quite a smile, and Luxio retained his overall casual patience. "You already knew," he said with a twinge of guilt.

"Everyone knows," Luxio stated. "Blaziken dragged the both of you in covered in bruises. A lot of Pokemon saw it. It wasn't hard to piece together what happened."

"Look, I didn't mean for it to go down like that," RIley blurted out. "I just wanted to talk, and then-"

"Relax," Buizel told him. The Riolu complied yet did so questioningly. "It's no big deal. Really. Whatever sparked this duel is between you and him, and none of us have any stake in it." The Water-type looked over to his partner, then to the Roselia, and finally to the Charmander. "We're just curious, ain't that right?" he asked to them.

"Yeah," Pyro concurred. "We could barely hear anything, and the rain made it hard to see everything that went on."

All eyes were on him now, and Riley wasn't sure how to feel about being the center of attention, even in such a small group. Regardless, he couldn't help but to satisfy their curiosity. "W-well…" _Be careful_ , he thought. _It'd be best not to tell them everything_. "You know where Kirlia's been the past few days, right? I went back there to try and talk to him."

"Tried that twice," Luxio murmured. "No dice."

"Right? He's a tough guy to get through to," the Riolu agreed. "No matter what I said, he'd just tell me to leave. So I did what I could to get through to him, and I made something up to call him out. I told him he was just doing this to be more like his dad."

Buizel inhaled through his teeth. "Harsh," he said.

"I know. But it worked," Riley shrugged. "He told me to take it back, I didn't, and then he challenged me to a duel. And I accepted. So…" He involuntarily smiled. "We dueled for a while. Admittedly, it was fun."

"Yeah, I was wondering about that," Luxio interjected. "Kirlia should… I mean, we all know he has his moves. How did you avoid all that?"

Riley paused for a second to piece together his response. "You know… he didn't use any of them," he explained to them. "I didn't notice during the fight, but he was just using his dagger tucked in its sheath. Guess I was so caught up in it that I forgot about his gimmicks." Another pause. The word 'gimmick' was unintentional, but everything else came out as he wished it to. None of them would know what to make of it, anyways.

"Maybe…" Pyro whispered to himself. Whatever he was about to say had been thrown loose as he shook his head. "Nevermind."

"So, yeah, we fought for a while. According to Audino we'd injured the hell out of each other," Riley continued. Another pause, this one longer than the rest. He placed his left paw against his temple. "Until, we stopped…" Riley panicked briefly before turning to Rose. "I'm sorry, but my memory is kinda… fuzzy near the end. You caught what happened, didn't you?"

"Not really," the Grass-type said. "Like I said, it was hard to see. It looked like you'd stopped for a minute, then there was a loud _thud_. After that, Blaziken hopped down the cliff. She returned a minute later with the both of you out cold. That's all we saw."

"And all she told us," added Pyro.

It wasn't much, but it was enough to work with. Riley snapped his fingers as an alarmed expression overcame him. "That's _right_. Both of us were beaten pretty badly, so it was senseless to continue that. It was mutual, so we just… stopped. And that's where it cuts out." _And where the memories started_ , his thoughts added. _Don't forget about your-_ He stopped listening to himself. While his 'phantom family' was important, they could wait. This whole thing had to be resolved first.

Rose clicked her tongue. "Well, that's a bit anticlimactic," she sighed.

The Riolu shrugged. "Maybe, but before then, it was amazing," Riley gushed. "I didn't want it to end from us just getting tuckered out. That was about some of the most fun I've had since I got here. In fact…" He hesitated. Nervously he swallowed. "I-I've thought about it for a minute."

"Oh boy, here we go," Pyro whispered.

"I'd like it if we could do more of this," he said. "Do you think… I dunno, that we could tackle some wanted posters next time? Spice things up a bit?"

Pyro blinked. His shocked eyes turned to the Roselia to check if she shared his surprise, and she did. "That…" He turned back to Riley. "That sounds doable. So long as it's nothing out of our reach, yeah. We can take on some wanted posters."

"Really?" he asked, beaming a tamer version of the grin he wore during his duel.

"Really," Rose confirmed. "Being a bounty hunter isn't too much more dangerous, and if it'll keep you satisfied, I don't see any reason why we can't mix things up."

"Thank you guys. Honestly." The Riolu performed an odd sitting bow which took an awkward snicker from Buizel.

"It's no problem," she dismissed. "You're our teammate. Making accomo-"

The mostly-empty plates clattered on the table as they were joined by their final member, Kirlia, who slumped into his place at the end of the table. He brought with him no food, no drink, no cheer, and only offered the group a mournful expression as he stared intently at a knot in the wood. Kirlia's silence was like a vacuum, sucking away the conversations around him. Nearby ears twitched as they tuned in. The attention shifted onto him now. Rose, Riley and Pyro were not exempt from this as they watched with shameful curiosity. Their fixation with the morbid made them look, for who knew what the new arrival might do?

Kirlia let his eyelids slump down, curtains hiding their hollow gaze, and became still. Unnaturally still. Even as he took an audible breath his body did not appear to move. He held it for a second, during which the onlookers checked with each other, before exhaling it in an invisible jet. When his eyes opened again, they had been filled once again with a cold compassion coming to terms with its contradictory existence. They met with a silent Luxio and Buizel who were patiently awaiting his response. After one of the longest ten seconds in Kirlia's life, he finally spoke.

"I'm sorry," he proclaimed, gently but sincerely. "I've been… it's been rough, and I was only thinking about myself. I was selfish." Another pause. Kirlia clenched a fist. "I was naive. Foolish. You don't deserve to deal with someone like me." Yet another pause. He broke eye contact and bit his lip, drawing blood. Every word he spoke was another wound to his injured pride, and he wasn't even done yet. "I abandoned you for my own fruitless pursuits, only adding to your stress. I… I'm ashamed of my actions, and can only hope for a chance of redemption."

Silence followed. For Kirlia, it was maddening. He had exposed himself in admitting his failures, something he hadn't done since before he had evolved, and was met only with silence. Silence that he deserved. He couldn't even bare to raise his head to look at them and give them the satisfaction of witnessing his shame. It could always be worse, and he would not allow himself to drop any lower than this. But to be met with stagnant silence…? Kirlia had been bracing himself for any reply so that he could overcome it. Smugly laughing at the fallen 'princeling,' rejecting his 'facade' of an apology, anger that he dared to come back after thoughtlessly leaving them behind… Just about anything they could throw at him, he could grab onto it and climb back up to the top and raise his ego once again. He had reached out to climb higher, but there was nothing. Kirlia could not climb on this silence.

Then came the first jab to his pride- Buizel grinned with a single hiccup of laughter. Kirlia bit down harder. His teeth pressed together as he bit fully through his lip. Fire had been rekindled within him. He'd been right; coming here had been a mis-

"Awfully dramatic," Buizel smirked. "I should've expected something like this… I didn't, though. Don't know why." He looked away and scratched the back of his head. "Regardless… Thanks for the kind words. Good to see you back."

"Agreed," Luxio chimed in, brandishing a similar smile. "I figured you needed some time for whatever happened, but it isn't the same without you here. We're not at full-force, y'know?"

As quickly as it ignited, the fire had been doused from existence with one final hiss. Kirlia found himself petrified. His coldly compassionate eyes grew in the warmth of his teammates. Now it was his turn to be silent. He had prepared himself for anything and everything to climb higher, save for the obvious: a hand to pull him up. Forgiveness surprised him, and the fact he had been surprised also surprised him. Had Kirlia gone so far that he believed himself unworthy of redemption?

Kirlia's teeth let go of his lip, formed a bitter smirk, and raised his head to look his team in the eyes. "It's that easy? Just one speech?" he asked.

"Easier than that, probably. Our standards have to be pretty low with you," Buizel joked.

Kirlia chuckled, if only out of obligation, and then paused for a moment to let the mood reset. "Thank you guys, really. I'd thought I messed up beyond repair," he admitted.

"Hey," Luxio called. "You're fine. Welcome back. Just don't do it again, and everything will be okay."

Now that things had progressed and the tension had been overcome, Rose saw it fitting to include herself in the conversation. "Today's been a crazy day," she said playfully, "and somehow you've managed to top it. Impressive."

Kirlia found it easier than usual to remain diplomatic, as his warm expression held despite his bleeding lip. "If you're trying to rub it in, you're not doing a good job," he explained patiently.

"You've had a rough day. I'll be merciful, if only for now. It's the least I can give you after the shame you've fallen today," said she with a deviant grin. Kirlia faltered. _This_ was what he'd been anticipating for the past several hours. Even more than his rejection, Kirlia found himself afraid of this more than anything else, but it was not insurmountable. He even had a line prepared, and yet he was unable to climb higher. Kirlia had dropped his guard upon rejoining his friends.

He opened his mouth, prepared to bark through his teeth at the Grass-type and rip into the imp, but she continued after relishing his silence.

"You even had the type advantage and the experience on Riley, and you tied with him." Silence yet again. Never before had his emotions changed so wildly in such a small amount of time. _A tie…?_ Kirlia darted his eyes over to Riley, who met them with the smallest of nods. The fire was back, igniting a mere candle's flame from the wet ashes, yet still hot. Pleasantly hot. No longer did it burn, but merely flickered and danced as it radiated heat.

Kirlia spoke up with an air of camaraderie in his voice. His gaze still favored Riley. "Admittedly, it was a match I wasn't prepared for. Dealing with… _unconventional_ styles can either be the easiest or the hardest matchups," he said. "It makes me wonder where you picked it up from."

"Oh y'know, here and there," Riley shrugged. "You'd be surprised how much you can pick up just by watching."

"What've you been watching…?" Pyro murmured.

"It was fun, though, to try it all out. Just a shame it had to end that way." Riley locked his eyes with Kirlia's. No matter how hard the Psychic-type tried, he couldn't get a read on them. "What d'ya think about resolving that?"

"What, you want a rematch?" Kirlia asked daringly. "That sounds doable. But I warn you, I-"

"'I won't underestimate you this time,'" Riley finished for him with a devilish smile. "Or was it gonna be, 'I know all your tricks'? Either way, I don't need no warning; just a time and a day."

Buizel chuckled. "I knew I'd like this kid."

Kirlia sneered back. "One week from now," he said. "We'll finish it up later on."

"Tsk. Seven days from now? If I didn't know better I'd-"

Pyro grabbed the Riolu by the wrist and pulled him out of his banter. When he was about to demand answers, the Fire-type pointed him in the direction of the Guildmaster. Gallade stood quietly behind his table, hands patiently folded behind his back, as the last of the conversations faded away. It only took a moment for attention to unanimously fall upon him.

"Thank you. I'll be sure to keep this as brief as I can," Gallade promised them. "It's always nice to see everyone coming together like this. These feasts aren't as frequent as I'd like them to be, but… it makes them more special that way. It pleases me to no end to see everyone coming together, like a family." Gallade lowered his head and closed his eye.

"It is weird," he continued, "to look back and see how things have changed over the years. Not only have you, but the world at large has grown and developed in the last century. This is all the work of valiant Pokemon who have joined this side and fought for our cause, and for that, both you and those who cannot be here now have my sincerest gratitude. Despite your own reasons for enlisting, every head matters. Every bit helps."

Another pause. Riley leaned towards Rose and whispered to her, " _Does he usually do this?"_ She responded swiftly, " _No. Never._ "

Suddenly he opened his eye again, revealing a bright red jewel that glistened in the golden light from above. When he began to speak his voice had an audible quiver to it that he made no attempt to hide. For the first time since he took the mantle of Guildmaster, even had begun to cry. "I can't apologize enough for not being able to reciprocate just how I feel. There isn't much time for me to talk one-on-one with everybody, but I can assure you that I care _deeply_ for each of you. The Guildmaster before me felt like a father to everyone. He kept things official, but…" Gallade shook his head. "It's hard to describe without giving examples, and I don't think I need to do that. They're fairly well-known enough. I'm disappointed in myself that I can't achieve that same kind of leadership that he held… And yet, when I look at all of you, I see the same kind of determination that I saw in myself and my brothers and sisters when I was still an Explorer. That in itself gives me endless joy."

Gallade wiped the tears away, yet kept the glistening orbs perched on the end of his finger and looked down at them longingly. He turned back to his colleagues. Rhyperior met him with his usual stoic pride and nodded in approval. Dusknoir did the same, though his wispy red eye had taken on more of a pink tint. Ampharos avoided eye-contact altogether, as she was focused on not collapsing under all the attention sent her way. With a dutiful nod, Gallade turned back to his audience. Before they knew it, Gallade was folding before their eyes. Hands down to his side, head lowered, and upper body bent forward as he bowed before them.

"From the bottom of my heart," Gallade gasped, barely holding back sobs, "and on behalf of the world at large, thank you. I love you all."

The mood would never recover that night. His speech hung over the feast like a cool fog, and only left late into the following morning. No one could agree on whether it had been heartwarming or incredibly awkward.

…

A little over an hour earlier.

Kirlia had been shaken awake in the infirmary by his father, pulled from his rest and woken to see the stern look in Gallade's eye. Through Audino's shouting he said a familiar ten words: _We need to talk. You know where to find me._ They were words that had been spoken many times in the past that Kirlia could sense them coming just by seeing his father. Gallade left the room seconds afterwards, leaving the frustrated nurse to glare at him behind his back. Less than a minute later, Kirlia followed him.

For as long as Kirlia could remember, the cemetery had been the location of all of his _talks_ with Gallade. Every instance where he had to correct Kirlia's behavior took place amongst the smooth stone monuments that had accumulated over centuries. His first time as a mere Ralts, nearly eight years prior when he first became an Explorer, had been for Gallade to show the weight of the task his son was about to accept, and to show what can happen to those who give the ultimate sacrifice. While that one fit the setting, the rest could have easily been held in the Guildmaster's office. Things like his attitude, his behavior, like his father had suddenly become his counselor. This day marked their tenth meeting, and their last one had been merely a week ago upon returning from the desert. Kirlia had personally thought that he used this cemetery as a crutch to provide atmosphere. Rows upon rows of graves had watched them like a spiritual jury, silently judging the defendant.

Gallade was exactly where he always had been when awaiting his subject: standing in front of the Groudon's skull that marked the grave of the first Guildmaster. His eye was closed and his breathing regulated in meditation. On any other day, the sun always managed to hit him just right to give Gallade an angelic glow. The heavens themselves would cast a ray of light to mark him as blessed with wisdom, granting him a sagely quality to his words. Today, it was drizzling. The sun was a ghostly pearl in the clouds, and instead of an angelic glow, Gallade had instead been granted a dark sheen.

Before either of them could speak, Gallade held his open hand towards his son expectantly. "Let me see it," he demanded. Kirlia reluctantly reached into his bag and removed the dagger, held it by the sheath, then offered it to his father. Gallade grasped it and yanked the sheath off. The blade had been worn and chipped, and the sheath itself had grown thinner as the blade had cut through the edges. "Tch. You know better than this, Kirlia. This sheath isn't meant for combat. What were you thinking?" he barked.

"I don't know, sir," Kirlia said hollowly.

"I'm gonna have to get this repaired," he murmured. "The guy's no longer around, either, so it's gonna be a pain… Damn it, Kirlia. I told you to be careful with this thing."

"I'm sorry, sir," Kirlia said hollowly.

Gallade clicked his tongue and handed his son the dagger, yet kept the sheath for himself. "Be _careful_ with this. It'll have to remain unsheathed for the next couple days. Otherwise you'll cut through it."

"Understood, sir," Kirlia said hollowly. This was the only way to get through these _talks_.

The Guildmaster held the sheath up to his remaining eye and looked carefully inside it. "You really went berserk with this thing. A few more hits and you would've cut right through. Didn't I tell you to be more careful?"

"You did, sir," Kirlia said hollowly.

Gallade suddenly snapped his hand firmly onto Kirlia's shoulder, drawing his son's disinterested gaze to him. "This is _serious_ , Kirlia. I'd appreciate it if you at least acted like you give a damn," he scolded.

"I do, sir," Kirlia said.

" _Don't lie to me_ ," Gallade spat. "I can sense your emotions. I know you're bored and you're angry. You understand I'm trying to help you, right?"

"Yes, s-"

" _Stop_ ," Gallade barked. He took a deep, patient breath. "Alright… just, stop with all the 'sir'ing for now. Just listen to me. Clear?" Kirlia nodded, and Gallade let go of him. "Good. Now, you need to know that you're not ready to evolve. This training you've been doing… it isn't enough."

The hollowness was dispelled and filled with shock as Kirlia locked up. When he first heard these words they had roused anger from him, and even when Gallade told him directly, Kirlia was still angry. But he was not talking to someone like Riley. His anger could not be taken out on his father, the Guildmaster, so it then turned to the second nearest target. His anger turned inward as it was transmuted into guilt.

"Dad," Kirlia said, meeting his father's stern gaze, "you don't-"

"Yes, son, I do," Gallade interrupted. "I know I've told you before, but it seems you've either forgotten or ignored it. Remember what I've told you of my brother?" Kirlia nodded, for he knew not what else to do. "He too wanted to evolve much sooner than he was ready. For him, his evolution was a requirement to progress. When Garchomp caught on to this, do you remember what he said?"

The boy nodded. "A proverb. 'Corn planted where it gets little sun will foolishly think that autumn is approaching and rush to give harvest. The result, while edible, is much less than if it had matured naturally.'"

Gallade broke his stern look and gave the boy an approving smile. "Good," he said. Kirlia murmured under his breath, _thank you_. "I've always liked that proverb. My brother didn't even think about its advice. He went ahead and evolved without the proper preparations. Before then it was bad, but afterwards… afterwards, he was a nervous wreck. You practicing out back isn't enough to prepare you."

"Then what is?" Kirlia asked.

The stern look reformed. "Proper training from a Highland master," he stated suspiciously. " _Years_ down the line from now, Kirlia. You aren't anywhere near being ready."

"Dad," Kirlia blurted out. The father remained suspicious, yet gave the boy the conversational right-of-way. But the boy was frozen. The words were on the tip of his tongue, eager to jump off in one bravely childish leap- _I just wanted you to be proud of me!_ \- and yet Kirlia was too conflicted to let them go. He had already said that a mere week ago. "I…" Saying it again wouldn't have nearly the same amount of acceptance as last time. He could already hear his father calling him _misguided_ and _foolish_ , kicking his downed pride. Kirlia knew that it wouldn't work. Kirlia also knew he wouldn't remain silent and accept this lecture without trying to validate his actions. So, he spoke hesitantly. "I just... wanted to be a better Explorer," he admitted.

The harshness in Gallade's stare softened, but did not dissipate. A slow, tired breath streamed out his nostrils as he lifted his arms to his chest and crossed them. Patiently he tapped his fingers on his elbow. "You're going about this the wrong way," he said. "You don't want to grow up this fast, do you?" Kirlia couldn't decide what his answer would be, and regardless he couldn't find the words to speak with anyways. "Kirlia… You only have one childhood. Please, I don't want you to throw it away. It's something that's impossible to get it back. Am I getting through to you?"

"Y…" The boy swallowed. "Yes, sir," Kirlia said sincerely but skeptically.

Gallade shook his head and turned away from his boy. His gaze met the empty sockets of Groudon's skull and peered deep into the darkness. "Honestly… I'm so sorry," he said to no one specifically. "You're mother would be so ashamed of me."

The boy stopped instantaneously to stare wide-eyed at his father, for he had said _that word_. It was a word Kirlia himself had only uttered thrice before, and a word Gallade had not used once unless provoked: _mother_ , and all its lingual relatives.

When Kirlia first said the forbidden word, it was when he was a little over a year old in his first Harvest Festival. He was watching the rustic floats come by, parading straw idols from a mythology long-forgotten, hoisted upon the shoulders of his father to get a better view. The young Ralts looked around curiously to see several similar family units, with kids lifted up on the shoulders of their parents, but it was the first time that Ralts realized that he didn't have a mother like all the other kids. The next day, after the excitement of the festival had passed, Ralts asked his dad the question that Gallade had been unknowingly dreading: _What happened to mom?_ Gallade could only bring himself to reluctantly answer with _She's not here anymore. She passed away before you were born_. To his surprise, Ralts didn't ask much more than that. His undeveloped mind managed to be satisfied with that meagre amount of information.

The second instance was seven years after that, a mere week after first meeting Buizel and Luxio, who had been a Shinx at the time. As they were acquainting themselves with each other, Ralts had realized that he knew nothing about his own mother other than that she had died. At the end of the day, he went to his father's office and asked Gallade, weary from a hard day's work behind that mahogany desk and a mountain of paperwork, for some more details about his mother. Gallade only had it in him to tell his child how his mother had passed. _She had gone with me into a powerful dungeon- The Ol' Mountain, actually- and… Well, she wasn't quite ready for what laid inside. An accident happened, and… She was gone._ This had been information Ralts had not known he'd longed for, and he was grateful for the opportunity, but his thirst was not yet quenched. He pushed for more. Gallade pushed back. _Look buddy, I'm really tired. I don't want to talk about this right now, okay?_ The polite version of telling his child to shut up. Ralts asked a third time the next morning, and to no avail. _I thought I told you I don't want to talk about this_ , Gallade had scolded him. _Drop it. I'm sorry, but I'm not in the mood_.

Yet this was different. This had been the first time Kirlia had witnessed his father bring up the _taboo_ unprovoked, the first time his father had been the one to bring up the absence in the family. That single word, _mother_ , activated a spell that cast all of Kirlia's guilt and anger aside. He shed his skin and was born anew with a single desire: press for information. A chance like this wouldn't present itself again. Finally, he would put a face and a personality to the phantom in their family.

"D…" The boy swallowed anxiously. He could feel his throat shivering. "Dad?" he asked. Gallade turned to face him but said nothing. The look in his eye was terrifying. He could hear his response already. _I told you to shut your mouth about her. Don't change the topic here, Kirlia. You're still in trouble. Distracting me won't change that. Have you no shame, using the dead to avoid a lecture?_ He shook his head and forced himself to focus. This was too important to allow himself to be talked out of it, even by himself. Kirlia opened his mouth and blurted out before he could even think, "I- I was hoping that you could fin- finally tell me about mom!" The boy folded his hands to his side and lowered his head in a respectful bow.

Gallade pursed his lips together as he stared at his son questioningly. For Kirlia, it took every ounce of strength he had to stay still and silent. "I'm not done talking yet. There's still-"

Instantly Kirlia shouted respectfully yet thoughtlessly, "I've already done some self reflecting during the duel, sir! My training wasn't getting me anywhere-" these words stung more than anything else, but he forced himself through, "-and I was being neglectful of my comrades! I have it planned to apologize once we're done here! Please, sir…! I want to know…"

More silence. Kirlia had never been so embarrassed in his life, and he couldn't even prepare himself for it. His cheeks were singed as he stood there, head bowed, eyes glued to the cobblestone path. The only way he could envision this being any worse would be for him to kneel and beg, and in his eyes that wasn't much worse than exposing himself like this. Nothing to hide behind, no excuses he could muster… just left out with all his defenses stripped and the truth presented to the judge and the jury of graves. And there was silence. Seconds upon seconds of silence that crawled by like agonizing years. Just the sprinkling rain on his head and back, and a faint wind carrying with it the earthy smell of mud. His father had refused to speak to him, refused to laugh, to growl, to roar, to sigh, to have any audible reaction whatsoever. It was torture. For the love of Arceus, get it-

His calloused hand patted the back of Kirlia's head gently. "That's…" Gallade said proudly. "That's good to hear, son. The next half of my speech was gonna be about that. Good on you for taking initiative." He ruffled his hand through his son's damp hair affectionately.

A shiver ran up Kirlia's spine. He raised his head, wiping the rainwater from his puffy eyes, and met his father's proud smile. "S-so, can we talk about her?"

"Well…" Gallade cocked his head to the side. "I guess I already have the time set aside for this, and bringing up that ol' proverb's got me feeling nostalgic. Sure, let's talk about her," he allowed. "What do you already know?"

"Nothing," Kirlia answered.

"'Nothing?'" Gallade repeated, appalled. "That can't be…"

"It is," Kirlia insisted, eager to change that. "You would never tell me when I was younger, and no one else wanted to be the one to tell me."

Gallade put his hand over his scarred eye and clutched his face in disappointment. "My… I'm so sorry. I thought you knew at least _something_." He paused momentarily as he sifted through his memories. "Let's… Let's start simple. Do you know her name?" Kirlia shook his head. "It was Gwynevere. Everyone that knew her just called her Gwyn."

"'Gwynevere,'" Kirlia repeated, savoring the sound.

"She'd been born in Baltre, if you're wondering where such a perfect name could originate from," Gallade explained. "After she was around the age of fifteen, she moved to a town a couple miles from here called Pelipper Post to join the newspaper. I met her around a year and a half after that. You see, around that time, the Guild had been recognized as a sovereign nation by over half of the countries around the world, and to celebrate, their newspaper decided to publish a new type of article. They published world-wide, to a reasonable degree, so they volunteered to introduce us to the rest of the world a team at a time. Gwynevere was assigned this task, and Garchomp thought that my brother and I should be the first team to be introduced, so… When I first met her, I was confessing my life story in an interview. It was weird, to say the least."

"She's a journalist?" Kirlia asked hopefully. "So… That'd mean that some of her writing is archived somewhere?"

"Oh, yeah. Without a doubt," Gallade answered. "I have my own article preserved in my office. There's a whole scrapbook filled with everyone's from back in the day, if you're curious." Kirlia nodded eagerly. "Though, I must say (for her sake more than your own) that she was young when she wrote those. Her writing was… _unpolished_ , as she would say."

"I honestly couldn't care how bad it is," Kirlia claimed.

"I figured you wouldn't," Gallade shrugged. "Back to the story, she didn't remain a journalist for too long anyways. The paper was just a way for her to practice her writing so she could one day become a novelist."

"Wait." Kirlia took hold of his father's attention. "She's written books, and you didn't tell me?"

Gallade smirked. "You've already read them, buddy," he said. The boy's body locked up. "She took a position as an Adventure Author. Following teams on legendary expositions, joining as an unofficial member and detailing the events of the Explorers, to succeed in whatever quest they ventured out for… Remember when you were a kid, I'd hand you some of the books written about my adventures? Awfully narcissistic of me in hindsight, but, they were written by your mother."

"You're kidding…!" There must have been a dozen of his father's books that he'd read when he was younger. A dozen dramatizations of his adventures as a part of Team Excalibur. A dozen relics of his mother's own thoughts and words, and he hadn't even known.

"Until then we had been close acquaintances, but when she came to us begging to tag along, we soon became close friends. In the peril of a dungeon, you can either cling together or drive yourselves apart," he stated. "I remember being surprised at how helpful she was. She wasn't combat-trained, but she had been able to get us out of a few corners with her Protects. It wasn't long until she was considered an unofficial member of our team."

"So, all those adventures I read about…" Kirlia trailed off, eyes gleaming.

"Gwynevere was there. That's right." Gallade had to hold back his giddy laughter, for he didn't get to see his son like this often. He couldn't remember the last time since Kirlia evolved that he had managed to rouse whimsy. "She was there when we were attacked by Kyurem. She was there when we found the Heaven's Isles. All of it."

"Then, when did she finally become…" Kirlia lowered his gaze in embarrassment, but his desire for more pushed him to keep talking. "You know… when did you two start dating?"

Gallade stopped abruptly. "W-well, that's…" he awkwardly stumbled. "It's a long story, and I'll be honest… I'm not prepared to tell it just yet." Silence. The boy knew he just used up all his luck. It would be quite some time until he could have another _talk_ like this one, and while that wasn't good news, he still had something to hold onto. The phantom in the family had a name and a bit of personality. It was comforting, at the very least, to have that much. But it got better.

"I'll tell you what," said Gallade. Kirlia turned back to him. "I can show you to her right now, and leave you two alone for a while." The boy lit up as he remembered the obvious: they were in a cemetery. Obviously she was somewhere around here, amongst all the members of the jury represented with sleek stone slabs. "She isn't all that talkative, but… it's criminal that she hasn't gotten to see you. Visit with her all you want, and then… Not to ruin the mood, but then you're gonna go back and break bread with your team. Sound good?"

"Y-yes, sir. I'd love to," Kirlia said. He was unknowingly grinning, and though it was barely more than his diplomatic facade of a smile, it was nice for Gallade to see. His father motioned for him to follow and proceeded down the wet cobblestone path, leaving the Groudon's skull behind. The boy followed without hesitation.

Their short trek brought them up a gentle slope to the crest of a hill. This particular hill, upon which a select few marble graves were perched, overlooked a great oak tree. Just under half a mile away this mighty oak towered over them at an astounding three-hundred-fifty feet. Twisted branches wove and split between each other, sheathed in emerald leaves darkened by the rain, forming a massive bushel to cloak the warped spire of wood that was the tree's thick trunk. Rainwater dripped from the millions of leaves like a waterfall, audible even at that distance.

Gallade came to a stop in front of one of the marble graves just shy of the hill's peak. On its smooth surface the following had been shallowly etched into its surface:

 **Gwynevere**

 **851-884**

" _ **Through language comes understanding.**_

 _ **Through understanding comes peace."**_

"Good afternoon," Gallade greeted the grave. "Sorry I haven't visited in awhile. Things have been… pretty hectic lately." The grave only offered him a cold shoulder. "Even worse, it was brought to my attention that I've never brought your son to see you. Forgive me, Gwyn." Still there was no reply.

Gallade placed his hand on the boy's back and nudged him forward. Now he was a mere foot and a half away from the tombstone, close enough to reach out and touch it. Gwynevere was somewhere beneath his feet. His mouth had gone dry like cotton.

"Your boy," whispered Gallade, "asked if he could see you. He needs some time to think, so… I'll leave you two to it. Need anything else?"

"No," the boy answered. "Thank you, but, I don't need anything." Gallade smiled. Without another word, he brought his hand to his son's head and ruffled his hair affectionately. In a soft flash of light the hand disappeared with its owner, then Kirlia was alone. It was just him in front of the marble monument, scarred with regulated text void of any personality. Even the quote, which Kirlia presumed belonged to her, sounded stoic and serious. _**Through language comes understanding. Through understanding comes peace.**_ From what little he was told about her, and the non-verbal signals his father used while talking about her, this wasn't a monument to remember her by, but only to respect her. Either that or his idea of who she was had been utterly false.

"Peace through language," Kirlia murmured. He dropped to one knee in front of the grave, mud squelching under him, and carefully inspected the smooth slab. "Gwynevere… Mom… Were you really that naive?"

The rain picked up again, pounding down upon the earth as the wind threw the droplets forward like handfuls of rocks. Water that had collected in the indentations of the letters were blown away to the north. "It would make sense that he fell for someone with as much blind virtue as himself," he continued.

The boy reached forward and placed his hand just underneath her name. "Gwynevere…" Elegance and beauty and comfort fused into a single name. Hearing it made him feel loved and embraced, even if for only a fraction of a second. Without meaning to, Kirlia extended his thumb to wipe away a drop of water that had been quivering in the stem of the G, like wiping away a tear. "Just who were you?"


	25. Chapter 25: The Exiles' Resolve

A campfire didn't offer much safety in the middle of a Mystery Dungeon, and in fact could potentially make things worse, but it more than made up for that by granting them comfort. To the intruders, such was invaluable. The fire danced on a small pile of twigs and weeds gathered from the arid environment, further fueled with a scrap of canvas torn from their satchels. Above it was a Spinarak impaled like a pig on a rotisserie, albeit with improvised tools and an unappetizing meal, with black lines where the eager flame lapped at its outer layer.

The first of the intruders into the Mystery Dungeon, a Monferno previously sat with her arm perched on top of her knee as she absently gazed into her source of comfort, grabbed the Spinarak by the back end of the stick. Carefully she removed it, leaving behind a damp gorey tunnel that puffed out steam through both ends. Monferno recoiled from the repulsive scent carried within it, holding her breath as it began to fade away in the night air.

She coughed once and placed it on the ground beside the campfire. "Disgusting little guy, ain't he?" Monferno murmured. She looked to her companion, the second and final intruder, a Drilbur fixated on his own claws. Meticulously he picked the sand and pebbles out from between them, scraping away until they were perfectly clean. "It's cooked," she said. "Go ahead and cut it open."

Drilbur eyed the cooked Spinarak cautiously. "Do I really have to?" he asked. "Isn't there anything cleaner we could eat instead?"

"Nothing that wouldn't put up a fight," she answered.

"But, I hate bug meat," Drilbur groaned. "It's pulpy and gross."

"If it's so gross, then go hunt yourself," Monferno barked. She stabbed the stick down into the depths of the bonfire, causing an eruption of sparks to soar up and plume just above them. Drilbur jolted back and caught himself on his elbows. "I'm tired enough as it is, and fighting anything bigger or more appetizing than this would take up more energy than they're worth."

Drilbur looked hesitantly but guiltily to the Spinarak. Yes, part of it was his disgust towards eating a Pokemon like that, but a much smaller part of it was his own sympathy for wild Bug-types. The children for most species, unless they lived in colonies like Combee and Durant, were left to fend for themselves in the wild. Most couldn't. They were easy pickings. Easy, disgusting, pathetic pickings.

"F… fine," Drilbur sighed. He leaned in to the Spinarak and eyed it carefully. Juices trickled out of the hole on its head like tears. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, reached out… In one flick of the wrist it was over, the exoskeleton cut in one clean motion, leaving only a thin veil of unknown liquids coating his center claw, which he wiped off on the dirt. Their meal split open and rolled apart to present the insectoid innards within the shell, steaming like a fresh turkey.

"Thanks," Monferno murmured. She grabbed her half and dragged it closer to her. "Sorry for yelling. I didn't mean to get angry there. It's been a _long_ day."

"Yeah. It's okay," Drilbur said.

Her gaze was drawn back to the fire, to the stick she'd just violently offered to it. Tongues of fire were eagerly lapping at the oils that were marinated into it. "I don't know if I'd told you today, but…" She rested her arm upon her knee again. "I'm sorry."

"You _just_ said that."

"That's not what I mean, jackass," she sighed. "I mean, sorry for… y'know, trapping us here. It's all my fault."

"Oh. That." The Ground-type scratched the back of his head with the tips of his claws. "It's fine. Anyone could've made a mistake like that."

"Anyone could've, and they'd still be a fuck-up," she spat bitterly. "Because of that, we've got the Guild on our backs. I wouldn't be surprised if they have Explorers posted around the exit to intercept us. It'd be a miracle if we could make it out of The Devil's Labyrinth."

"Hey." Drilbur raked his claws together, drawing her attention to him. He never liked having to step up to the plate, and in fact until a year ago he would tear up when he stood up for himself, but it was never a choice. Letting her continue like this could only hurt them. "Stop talking like that. If you didn't mess up back in Wrytsberg, I would've instead. I mean it when I say 'it's fine.' Just ease up on yourself. Please."

"You know," she said solemnly, yet with a hint of a grateful smile, "that you can't talk someone out of this."

He shrugged, smirking. "Not that quickly, but it couldn't hurt to try. _You_ know-" Drilbur pointed at her accusingly but playfully, "-that our chances are severely lower when you're in this funk. So..." His smile wavered. He drew in a short, dry breath and cleared his throat. "My dad had his own scientific law when it came to others. He'd say, 'if someone seems to overreact to something relatively minor, there's usually another variable involved.' Should I start playing ameture psychiatrist, or do you want to just come out and tell me what's wrong?"

For a moment she began to scowl, flashing her teeth and setting her brown eyes ablaze, but her lips barely parted before she forced herself to stop. Anger turned to guilt as she sighed quietly. Her gaze flicked to the campfire, and then to the sky as she laid back with her hands folded behind her head. Rough red walls of the Labyrinth's canyon formed the banks of a cosmic river of stars and nebulae. Its stagnant flow was hypnotic in its depth and its brilliance. Only now did she realize that the night back home was so shallow, with only a fraction of the stars and sights across the sea. In Baltre they could connect the dots to make vague creatures in the skies. Years ago she would make her own with Drilbur. But she wasn't home anymore. She was almost as far as she could get.

"I feel like we're in over our head," she murmured absently. "Whoever ended up getting us caught, it doesn't change the fact that the Guild is dangerous."

He paused briefly, a quizzical look frozen on his face. "What, is that all?" he asked, the corners of his mouth curled faintly. "Monferno, the odds have been way worse than this before. This won't be the first time we defied them."

"But there wasn't anything on the line before," she yelled, just a hair below barking at him. "If we don't get out of here, everything ends. Please…" She was still laying back with her eyes set above, but she had taken on a deadly serious tone in her voice. "If we get held back by the Guild, I need you to go on without me."

Drilbur stopped abruptly. He didn't even take time to consider her demands, but the fact she had even said this was concerning. This hadn't been the first time her gut made her paranoid, and knowing her it certainly wouldn't be the last. And yet, to treat her intuitions this critically? "Out of the question," he stated plainly, planting his flag firmly in the dirt. "I won't. I can't."

"And why not?" Her tone was harsh yet patient, as if this had been anticipated.

"Don't ask me stupid questions," Drilbur almost barked back.

Monferno pulled herself up, removing her eyes from the cosmic river and placing them on the mole. They were dark and piercing, more so than ever before. Brown bombardier's eyes. "I'm not," she said through her teeth. "You're familiar with the severity of our quest, aren't you?"

"Yeah, but…" He clenched his teeth together in frustration. The words slipped through his claws as he tried to grasp them. Stepping up to the plate for someone else was uncomfortable yet felt right, felt just. Doing so for his own sake only made him flustered and angry, for he never knew what to say… No. That wasn't true, and Drilbur knew it. He knew exactly what he wanted to say, words perfectly formed and readied to present like a ring on a pillow. He would place his hand over his heart and scream, _I'm not leaving you behind!_ But he couldn't handle the thought of rejection, the thought of her dismissing him as 'foolish' or, heavens forbid, 'childish.' What was he to say? Cling to the rule of half-truths?

The Fire-type pushed herself up and loomed over her partner, glaring down at him with only the campfire between them. Her dark eyes shone like sheets of oil in the light. "You can't even answer a 'stupid question,'" she scowled. Drilbur stumbled backwards defensively as she stared at him, severe but patient.

He panicked and blurted out the first thing that came to mind, "Th-there's no way I can make it out without you!" and was disgusted the instant he heard himself. It was his past self that spoke, struggling to keep his voice from quivering. It was Hodrick that was panicked and frightened, Hodrick that was too weak to stand up for himself, and not the new Drilbur that he had promised to become. Drilbur gritted his teeth and pointed back up at her with his long claws. He knew two things for certain in that moment: there was nothing that could make him leave her, and there was nothing that would make him feel bad for caring. Not even Hodrick. "You want me to just leave you for the Guild to arrest? We both-"

" _We both know_ that the Guild won't do anything. At _worst_ , I'd be locked up for a couple months with maybe a fine-"

"Damn it, I _know_ what it means! Don't try and lie to me!" he shouted. "If they catch you, they'll send you back home! And _we both know_ -" there was a satisfying amount of stink on those three words as he chucked them back at her "-what that means. There's no way I'd leave you to them. What'd you do in my situation?"

Monferno was taken aback. No longer was her glare harsh, or even a glare at all. Her dark eyes grew to touch the border of her blue brow as they met those of Drilbur's, and for an instant, no longer and no shorter, she felt a flash of pride. If she had not been its recipient, she would've congratulated him afterwards. Only, she was, and the flash of pride was snuffed and drowned in a wave of shame. Monferno couldn't even bring herself to meet his eyes, and instead opted for the heart of the campfire. With a heavy sigh, she dropped back down to a sitting position under his accusatory stare of childish defeat. _Pick your battles_ , she told herself, and kept her answer a secret.

Pleased, Drilbur dropped across from her and sat down. "How about this," he said, smiling patiently, kindly, but it wasn't the same smile it had been earlier. It was a facade that was trying desperately to be genuine. "Promise me you won't get caught, and then we don't have to worry about it." She responded by rolling her eyes and was just about to speak, but he continued.

"I know. I know, that'd be treating your intuitions like they're just paranoia. It's not something I like to do, believe me. There's nothing wrong with being cautious since the stakes are so high." He took a brief pause, during which he turned his gaze to the Spinarak. There it still lay, opened and presenting and waiting eagerly in a puddle of its own juices. Drilbur willed himself to lean forward towards his half, holding his breath,- the steam may have been gone, but the smell was not- and tore a piece of it off. "I also know," he continued, "that it will _never_ come to that. So long as I have something to say about it, neither of us are going anywhere."

Monferno snapped her gaze back to him, gentle but stern. "Can we put a pin in this?" she asked, unnaturally still.

"I don't see why we should. We're this close to-"

And then he saw it. Saw them. In the shadowy halls of the Mystery Dungeon, clinging to the dark red walls, two Ariados carefully crawled closer and closer. They were a mere fifty yards away, eyes sheening from the light of the fire, and approaching gradually. Soon that would change. He could already just make out the singular horns poking out of the darkness, each joined by two tusks that served as external teeth. Drilbur swallowed and dropped the bit of Spinarak meat he held in his claws.

"Aren't they supposed to leave their kids alone…?" he whispered. It was all he could think to do. He sat so still he wasn't breathing.

"Who knows?" she shrugged. Her tail flared as she turned around to face the residents of the dungeon.

…

He ripped the job off the board after only a glance, for Riley had been smitten with it the instant he read a mere two words. From some couple dozen wanted posters, he had chosen this one only because of the name of the dungeon: The Devil's Labyrinth. Hearing the name alone made him imagine legends passed on through the eons, of heroes venturing into the monster's lair to claim its head, and Riley knew instantly that he would be taking it.

After a brief check through the information and confirming that it's rank, B, was not too out of their league, he turned to his partners who were themselves inspecting the wanted board, and offered it to them. The Charmander took it out of his hand, and the Roselia leaned in behind him, and the two began to read the rest of the poster that Riley had merely skimmed.

 _Wanted: Alive_ was written above two portraits on the poster. On the left was a grim-looking Monferno walking through a busy city street he didn't recognize, turned around to give the viewer a suspicious but harmless glare. On the right, a shot from the same city focused on an exhausted, anxious Drilbur. The tip of Monferno's tail peeped in at the edge of the frame. _Monferno (left) and Hodrick, Drilbur (right)_ was written underneath them, then subtitled with the bounty: 15,000 Poke.

Pyro turned the page over, skimmed the statistics, and stopped abruptly upon the location last seen: The Devil's Labyrinth. He eyed Riley questioningly, humorously, and told him, "You have _no_ idea what you've just gotten yourself into." Riley smirked gratefully, and after a quick trip into town to supply themselves, they hitched a ride on a caravan to the labyrinth. And on the way, Riley, sat upon the edge of a crate in the back of a wagon, learned exactly what he had asked for.

"Just about everyone agrees that the Labyrinth is one of the toughest dungeons on the continent, almost rivaling the Mountain of Myths," Rose explained. "Not because of the strength of its inhabitants. They're a bit tougher than what we usually deal with, just not by much. No, the Labyrinth is dangerous because of the Labyrinth itself. Forty-five square miles for a single dungeon is unheard of. Usually for big plots of land like that are made up of several smaller dungeons. Not this one. Keep your Escape Orbs with you at all times, for if you don't, it'd be a miracle if you could find your way out in time."

She pressed on. "It's at the edge of the desert east of the mountains, and it's by far the worst part of that patch of sand. The sun beats down hot enough to make most Fire-types uncomfortable." Pyro nodded in confirmation. "Time will be our own worst enemy. Luckily, the dungeon is a series of canyons, so if we're at the bottom, there's only a short two or three hour window where the sun will be at its worst. Unluckily, we'll likely arrive during that window, so we've to endure the brunt of it from the start. In the evenings, things will start to be more tolerable, but for your own sake, don't even _think_ about going up-top until night has stuck around. On top of the canyons is a plateau that stretches on forever, and if you so much as touch it during the day, it will bake you. You could sear meat on the plateau. Imagine what it would do to your feet." A chill ran down Riley's spine at the thought. Heat enough to cook him… Yes, this place was turning into exactly what he'd been expecting. Exactly what would earn it the name of The Devil's Labyrinth.

Pyro stepped in, smiling a storyteller's smile, and took the helm. "And there's a lot more to it than its hazards," said he. "There's a lot of folklore about the place. It's been around for thousands of years, and is one of the first Mystery Dungeons to be discovered. There's over thirty documented myths about it." He leaned forward and began to whisper as if these tales were forbidden secrets. "And some of them are actually real."

For an instant he paused to let the idea sink in, which it did. It hit the depths of Riley's imagination hard enough to break through to the bedrock. The wonder took root and sprouted rapidly enough that his friends could see its shadow on the Riolu's face. A wraith of a smirk appeared on the Roselia as she sat back and watched the boys play.

"At first the place was a battleground for Kyogre and Groudon some twenty thousand years ago. Groudon won, so he banished the sea from the area, leaving a blazing hot scar upon the land as a sign of his victory. This was just a theory until Explorers uncovered remains of Water-types buried deep under the dungeon," he explained. Riley thought back to the wounded land behind the Guild, the trail of destruction that had healed in the past decades but whose raw power was still obvious. Envisioning an ancient battlefield for these gods only made his eager grin spread wider. "It was his home for a while, until, you know, the battle. Reports say that Implentur laid the body to rest somewhere in The Devil's Labyrinth, but no one has brought back proof."

"Really?" Riley asked him, trying and failing to hold back his giddiness.

Pyro snickered. "So the tales say," he answered. Such a line was a staple amongst storytellers, for it only served to reinforce the wonder, and it seemed to work on his listener. "Implentur has kept a tight grasp on the dungeon ever since the kingdom has been established. It's not closed off or anything, but to them it's the most valuable bit of territory next to the capitol. Which only serves to give legitimacy to the other legends about it. Some say that it was used to keep an ancient, powerful Pokemon trapped inside, one on the level of Groudon. Others say there's a trove of treasure stored away from thieves for over a hundred years. And (my personal favorite of them) some even say that The Devil's Labyrinth is the first Mystery Dungeon that someone had ever built inside of, and somewhere in the shifting canyons there's some kind of facility."

The Riolu leaned back with his eyes clamped shut. His paws raised to his mouth to muffle his giddy squeals, and his feet kicked high into the air as Riley fell onto his back. "I can't _wait!_ " he giggled. His team joined his laughter with their own, less excited but somehow more palpable because of that. In that short palaver Riley had bolstered their own wonder so that it towered above their anxiety. This Mystery Dungeon would be hell, and almost certainly these mysteries would go undiscovered, but it was hard not to be swept up in his blind optimism.

…

A mere mile and a half from the labyrinth's entrance, the caravan dropped the trio off at a rocky crag jutting out of dry, barren soil that could only give life to tufts of straw-like grass. The shade it provided was uncomfortably warm, and there wasn't much of it during midday, but the sunlight was blazing hot. It was like the heat of an oven wafting out from the opened door. Riley recoiled upon impact. A line popped into his head from his brother, Luke. _God didn't intend for us to live in the damned desert_. In that instant he couldn't agree more. But thankfully, the route to the Labyrinth was traced out in a field of rocky outcrops, of shady havens for brief moments of respite. To push forward in bursts was the only option.

And it only got worse. As the distance grew to a mere half mile the heat had gone up by at least ten degrees, and with each outcropping they sprinted forward, it seemed only to get hotter. Rose reached into her bag and snatched the damp stone, perpetually wet and cool, then kept it clamped inside the blue petals of her floral hand. She needed it, for the temperature would rise even higher. The blazing hallway stretched out in front of them, in which there were no shadows to hide in, and the air shimmered like a mirage inside it. Merely looking at it was painful. Yet, Riley ran into the canyon, bordered by two tall red walls of stone that radiated like stovetops, without hesitation. He was panting heavily and cycling the stale desert air in and out of his lungs.

Only he could barely notice upon entering the mighty halls of this labyrinth, for he had breached the borders. Entering a Mystery Dungeon gave a sensation like crossing dimensions as a Pokemon waded through a thin, almost tangible film of energy. It filled the three with an odd sense of unreality, of every atom in their body being flipped on their heads. Everything changed, but nothing was different. For an instant they could feel not the heat, not the blazing discomfort nor the dry throats, as their sprints slowed down into a slow jog, then a dead stop.

"Oh my god…" the Riolu whispered. It had only been four hours- the longest four hours of his life- since he'd heard of this mythical scarred dungeon, and yet it welcomed Riley as if it had been waiting for his kind for centuries. Smooth red walls with forty feet of dry, rosey sand between them, and a single path that branched off some two hundred yards ahead.

"I regret everything," the Roselia groaned back. The fine points on the top of her head were beginning to soften.

"Just two more hours," Pyro assured her. "If you need to stop, just say so. It'd give time to admire it."

"You guys haven't been here yet, right?" Riley asked them. His attention was on them, but his eyes were set on the path ahead them. Left, or right. Which would lead to the skeleton of Groudon? Which would lead to that hidden facility?

"Not yet," the Charmander responded. "It's been on my list for a while now."

" _Please_ ," Rose interjected. "If we're gonna press on, can we get on that? Before I wilt?"

"Right. Sorry." With a nod, the Charmander, followed immediately by the Riolu and then the sagging Roselia, pressed further.

…

The Devil's Labyrinth lived up to its name. Outside of the volcanic isles, this canyon was the hottest place on the planet, with a daily average of 140 degrees year-round. Riley found his new body had a surprisingly high tolerance for heat, enough so that the desert didn't bother him when he snuck away to Scizor, but this was far too much. His tongue hung out of the left side of his muzzle as he took his rapid breaths. Even the Charmander was growing uncomfortable.

So when the first slivers of shadows appeared as the day progressed, they clung to them as if their life depended on it. Even the Wildies couldn't pull them into the sunlight for long. Their encounters were slow and patient as they baited the dungeon's inhabitants closer, then combatted them in quick bursts. It wasn't long until the shadow had grown sizable enough that they didn't have to attach themselves to the wall, and soon after that there were more shadows than sunlight. By the time it was evening the temperature was actually tolerable.

The Charmander placed his hand flat on the west wall to test, and confirm, that it had cooled off enough. "It's safe to climb now," he called back to the team. Quickly he scanned this portion of the cliff for stray Ariados, and merely found a stray Spinarak clinging to the far left. "I'll only need some twenty, maybe thirty minutes to look around. Think you can hold on?"

"And camp here?" Riley asked him.

"What, don't think you can sit still that long?" Pyro smirked.

"Is that a challenge?" Riley smirked back. "Game on." He folded his arms in mock-stubbornness and plopped down in the sand right then and there. Pyro chuckled. Rose chuckled. Riley's smirk faded from mock-bombast into a sense of timeless joy.

"Be back soon," said the Charmander, and with that he was off. It never ceased to be jarring to see his speed double when he crawled on all fours. Even up a sheer wall he scaled it almost as fast as he could run. Soon the flame on the end of his tail glowed like a distant star emerging from the approaching night, and an instant later it was pulled out of view.

And the two were again alone. The Roselia slumped over on the canyon wall, a mere arm's length from the Riolu. She reached into her Explorer's pouch and brought out a plump, teal Rawst berry, rivaling the size of Riley's fist. "Oh heavens, I've been waiting for this all day." Greedily she stole a bite from it and filled her dainty mouth with fruit and juices. Beads formed and spilled from the corner of her mouth, which she wiped with the limp petals of her flowers. A chuckle escaped Riley's muzzle as he watched. "Doth you juuj me," she spat through her food, scattering pieces of her long-awaited treat to the thirsty sands. Quickly she chewed what she had and swallowed it all in one big, risky gulp. "I've been on the verge of dehydration all day. Now that it's cool, I think I've earned this."

"No argument," Riley returned. "Just didn't think that you'd be the one to wolf down your food outta the three of us."

"You try being a flower out in the desert," she countered. "It's exciting to be out here, but I ain't gonna lie. That sun would kill me if I hadn't taken measures against it."

"Yeah," he agreed. If that hot period had gone on for an hour longer, he imagined he would've passed out from heatstroke. Briefly he wondered just how their targets, Monferno and Drilbur, had managed to last here for three days if his math was right. Digging into the side of the wall? Must've been it. With that he shirked it out of his mind. "Enjoy every bite." She nodded, and proceeded to tear another mouthful off. There was still half of it left; impressive for a Rawst Berry.

Now sure that Pyro was out of hearing range, Riley finally told her. There was no ceremony, no prelude, no preparation, and instead he opted for raw truth. "I've got a few of my memories back," Riley said plainly. The Roselia stopped abruptly and looked to him for clarification, upon which he nodded. _That's right_. Hurriedly she continued chewing and with her free hand, she twirled it around twice in a gesture. _Keep going._

He did just that, and in a few minutes explained the few brief moments in time he could recall. He admitted that the line he gave her on the clock tower was not his own. He told her about watching One Piece in the basement (there was a brief exchange over the mentioning of this show, and Rose mentally marked it as a talking point for a later date), and the short discussion held over favorite characters. And most importantly, he gave to her a small portion of the list of all the things he could remember. His phantom brother had been fully realized, and additionally he had a whole phantom family back in his own world.

"Or at least, I did," he added. "Nothing I remember seems all that recent. In that last memory I was about nine, and I know I'm older than that. All the little details are from that age or younger, so I'm betting things are out of date by at least a few years."

There was little else to comment on in his brief memories. The only thing that struck Rose was the owner of the quote, and it wasn't big enough to confront him over. Instead, she took a smaller bite of her Rawst berry and said through that, "Well, it's good at least that you've got some of your memories. I was afraid that your seal was tight." Riley raised his solemn eyes and gave her a curious stare, and almost immediately Rose saw her error.

"Right. My bad." She coughed thrice and took a deep breath. The air was still dry but pleasantly cool. "I'll try and keep this short, but, from what I read, humans always wake up with memory loss to some degree. That part varies. You had amnesia; a complete brain scrubbing. I had a few memories here and there. You with me?" Riley nodded obediently. "Great. So regardless of who you are, when you wake up here, your memories are sealed up. In all the reported human cases, there are two kinds of seals: tight, and loose. Loose seals will let memories trickle in, or pour in, or come in bursts. Eventually they hold virtually nothing. Tight seals are, of course, tight. Nothing gets through. Having a tight seal _and_ complete amnesia is exceedingly rare, but, I hadn't ruled it out until just now."

Riley nodded thoughtfully, considering the information about metaphorical seals, but it also made him uneasy for one simple reason. "So where did you find all this out?"

The Roselia flicked her gaze up to the cliff tops. The sphere of light from the scouting Charmander's flame was nowhere to be seen. She took a deep breath, leaned in, and whispered, "There's some documents back at the Guild. If you catch Gallade alone- and I mean, _alone_ \- you can ask him to give you a journal. It has a list of all the cases of captured humans over the centuries. Just, don't ask me why. There's a _long_ history behind it, and I've done enough info-dumping for today. I'm tired."

"Got it." Though he agreed to silence his curiosity, this journal got his mind running. _How many other humans have there been? What happened to them? How did the author track all of them down?_ But this was to be a topic for another day. Riley laid down on the sand with his paws behind his head and his eyes on the desert sky. His place in the world would have to wait. Now his duty was here in The Devil's Labyrinth, and he was determined to enjoy this.

"Congratulations though," Rose said, returning to her casual demeanor with a single small bite of her Rawst berry. "It's not much, but you've got _some_ of your memories back. That's great in itself."

"Thanks." His reply was as simple as what he managed to recall, but in truth it was a relief to tell his only partner-in-crime about his phantom family. In a month's time Riley might be able to confide in her his own woes once he pulled them out of the void.

But now, the passing of tales was over. The weight on his shoulders had finally been shrugged off. Palaver was over. Now the two were placed back in the depths of a Mystery Dungeon amongst red walls and rosey sand. At the edge of their vision was a pair of Cacturne lurking in the distance, and the Spinarak that Pyro spotted remained in the same spot as it previously was. From further within there was the lone call of a Noctowl. And even further inside, silently beckoning them, was the remains of the titan Groudon- was the hidden facility built inside. Even closer, perhaps only a few miles away, were the criminals Drilbur and Monferno.

"So," said the Riolu, still laying on his back. "This ain't your first time bounty hunting, right?" Rose answered with a muffled _mhmm_. The Riolu paused briefly and considered his words carefully, until he decided he couldn't think of anything intellectual and just phrased it bluntly. "How does it normally go down?"

"Oh." Rose swallowed, considered, and then gave him a shrug and a megre "Depends." Riley raised his head and shot her a glare, to which she smirked faintly. "Honestly, it does. Pokemon have a lot of different moves, different styles, different items… They're a lot less predictable than your typical Wildies. It's more like hunting than fighting."

Unsatisfied, he pushed. "Okay. Then how would you go about taking these two down?"

Now she sincerely considered. She furrowed a brow Riley did not know she had, and her black eyes squinted until they looked like beans. After a moment she clicked her tongue, and just like that her face lightened up a smidge. "In this environment, Drilbur is bound to be more maneuverable than Monferno. He can dig. About six feet down the sand gets a bit more packed, more easy to dig through. So he'd lose us easily. We can't leave him alone for more than a few seconds. Understand?"

"Yeah." Riley propped himself up on his elbows and listened in fascination.

"Good, 'cause so do they. _We_ need to arrest them, which demands confrontation. They need only to escape. Don't go in expecting them to fight. If we're gonna be bounty hunting, _that_ is the _most_ important thing I can beat into you: we're not here to fight, we're here to hunt. Even if they start out combating us, that changes faster than you'd think," she explained.

"What else?" he asked. The wonder was back in his eyes.

"What else…" she muttered. "Well, there's some advice I picked up from Kirlia. He and his team do a lot of bounty hunting, so like it or not, he knows what he's talking about."

Riley raised a brow. "You sat down and talked with him?"

"Well…" After a moment's thought, she shrugged. "Yeah, a while back. Only a month after I got into the Guild. I don't like the guy, but I begrudgingly respect him… Anyways, I picked up two good lessons that day. The first: _always_ keep track of all of your opponents. Don't let any of them slip your mind, or they will be your downfall." She paused for a moment, and her listener nodded energetically. "And second: maneuverability is the key to this line of work. Being able to cut them off is paramount. Nothing is more demoralizing than watching a faster Pokemon run away from you, and you aren't able to catch up fast enough."

"Oh!" Suddenly he snapped up to an upright sit as he became aware. "So it's like back in the battlefield with Scizor. 'Cept now my job is switched."

"With the Dragonite, you mean? Yeah, I guess it is. If it helps you think about how to do it."

The Fighting-type pounded a fist into the pad of his paw. "It helps alright," he grinned. "I think I know just how they'll be thinkin'."

Rose was about to inquire further, but her attention was drawn elsewhere. Above them she heard a whispering _hissss_ , and Riley too twitched his ears to hone in on it. Scuttling towards them was their Charmander returning from his scouting mission, gently calling for their attention. "Quiet down," he silently ordered.

"Why?" Riley asked in his usual speaking volume. Again he was hypnotized by the jarring speed at which he crawled. Much later it would strike him that this rapid wall-scaling reminded him of the horror movies he secretly watched.

"Sound carries better than you'd think," Pyro said. "They're only three miles north-northeast of here, camped out for the night."

"Th-" He could feel himself about to yell, so he bit his tongue and began again in a harsh whisper. "Three miles?! That's nothing! We could close that in less than an hour at a walk."

"We could," Rose agreed, "but I'm not sure if I have another three miles in me just yet. There's some Wildies around here that aren't active until night, too, so we'd just make a racket."

"So, we're gonna wait for the sun to come up before we pursue them?" Riley asked accusingly.

"No," Pyro said. He looked to Rose for conformation, and she nodded in agreement. "If we take this like we usually do, we'll take a short rest and head out an hour or two before dawn. Sleep in shifts. All that stuff."

" _Fine_ ," Riley sighed. "I guess I can wait a little longer."

"Good." The Fire-type had brandished the storyteller's smile again. "'Cause I've got some news for you guys."

…

By the time Drilbur was awake, the first silvery light of dawn was emerging in the east. Stars were fading away above his head. Soon, the day star would take the throne again and begin his tyrannical oppression against the subjects of his cursed kingdom. But thankfully, there was at least a couple hours until it was soon enough. Now was the blessed period where the cool night air would run through these canyons like rivers.

He looked up to his partner, and Monferno was already awake. The campfire was buried in sand, and now she was smoothing and naturalizing it with the flat of her foot. Had he not fallen asleep next to it Drilbur would have mistaken it for any of the other odd mounds.

"Stop," he said, quietly but firmly. "You need to relax. Let me do it."

"No." She didn't even pause to look at him.

"Don't be so stubborn," he growled, rising to his feet. "You won't get any better if you keep moving around."

Monferno glared at him and brandished her left arm, waving it in his direction, showing off her makeshift splint. An ashy piece of desert driftwood rested against it, snugly tied to her wrist and her forearm. Aside from some unsullied bandaging around her elbow it appeared to be fine. They both knew it wasn't.

" _This_ isn't going away anytime soon," she barked. "It's not a sore muscle. Taking a few hours means a few hours I wasted."

"If you want to get better-"

"Getting better comes second. First, we need to escape this dungeon. And if that means I won't be able to use it, so be it." Her harsh brown eyes glared at the Ground type, who returned her an equally harsh but still caring stare.

"I don't like this side of you," he stated, pointing an accusing claw at her. "It's impossible to deal with you. You want to get out of here? Listen to this: you're not my commander, you're my _comrade_. Let me help you for Arceus's blessing."

She paused abruptly, for in truth, a kernel of herself agreed with him. A kernel of herself found that she was too controlling at times, too restrictive to grant her friend some breathing room. _If you had let him help, maybe you wouldn't have busted your arm_ , it said. _If I had, maybe he would've busted his instead_ , the rest of her countered. But the kernel had a point. Especially now that she wasn't at perfect working capacity, allowing him to throw in a claw here and there couldn't hurt. Slowing herself down wasn't an option, but, she could bring herself to kick him until the guy catches up to her pace.

"You think you can keep up?" she asked him.

"Ferni." He smiled with the confidence and charisma that Hodrick never had. She could almost hear it speak to her. _C'mon toots, what do you take me for?_ "I've been right behind you for as long as I can remember. I _think_ I can pick myself up to match you."

She nodded, smirking, to her partner. Not her lord, her partner. "Alright then. I'm pretty much done here, so…" Monferno turned to face the east. "Go scout ahead a little bit. I can take care of the rest of the camp."

"On it." And with a pleased smile, Drilbur dove into the sand. A couple seconds of scratching later, he was gone. Only a drooping mound marked his path, which Monferno kicked and smoothed away.

As she looked around for blotches left in the sand, where she would need to brush it into a more natural-looking painting, she froze on the spot. Drilbur had left behind his 'pillow.' In truth, it was their little knapsack which was at one point filled to the brim with dried food and water and tools, and a small bundle of spices. That morning there was only a half-canteen of water (bound to be a quarter when he returns), two dried sausages, and a pinch of rosemary. Most of the spices had been used with the wild bug meat. At one time this pack had been sturdy Knight-grade burlap big enough to fit an adult Jigglypuff. After many fires, and many strips needed for kindling, it was just a loose sack which Drilbur had to actively hold together at all times.

She bent over to pick it up, but stopped abruptly halfway down. This too, she realized, was part of letting go. The knapsack wasn't hers to worry about. It was Drilbur's to hold, it was Drilbur's to comfort, and it was Drilbur's to gradually destroy. In truth the little lordling needed it, even if he was giving up his status. Yet, she could sense her own skepticism. There was another reason, quite simply, and it was that letter. That letter which belongs in the hands of the desert king. That was her duty above all else.

For the past eleven years she had been teaching and protecting Hodrick. His manor in Rochester Ravine fell into poverty after his grandfather, Knight Horace, fled with Garchomp and some others to begin that damned Guild. After thirty years of fighting against economics and a sullied reputation, Hodrick and his family were forced to beg for asylum for the Duke of the area. That was when Monferno first met him; with his head to the floor and tears in his eyes, pleading with the old Samurott Duke Levaunt for housing. That was when Monferno was assigned to the sniveling creature as a retainer.

Drilbur would claim Hodrick to be dead, but that wasn't quite true. He still held onto the one piece of his old life as a pillow. There was still noble blood in him yet. Soon it would filter out, and there would be nothing but the hardened Knight for her own country. Soon wasn't soon enough. All she could really do was hope that it would be good enough, soon enough.

Suddenly she froze again. She knew what she would see before even raising her head, and was greeted by the glare of two ocean blue eyes that lit up like twin Dragon Rages. A Charmander, one hundred yards away, with a leather satchel hung around him. Even at this distance Monferno could make out the Guild's sigil. Quickly she darted her eyes about, through the canyon, to the top of the canyon, to carefully inspect her visitor. No one immediately around her. Nothing lurking above. Nothing aside from basic Explorer supplies in his bag and his hands.

Monferno knew one thing for sure, and it was only strengthened by the fact that this Charmander wasn't moving closer. He intended to trap them in here. And that (plus the fact that he wasn't evolved) meant he wasn't alone. Any second now Drilbur would run into the other parts of his team. Without that letter, Drilbur can't run. She had trapped herself.

…

It all happened before Drilbur even knew it had happened. He remembered breaching his nose to the surface, smelling a peculiar flower, and then raising his head out to investigate, and there they were. A stern-looking Roselia and a grinning Riolu awaited him. Just as he was gawking at the Guild's sigil branded on their bags, the Roselia had placed her red flower over her mouth, and from it came a sound like shrieking piccolo. A second later, the Riolu was walking forward, one fist cradled in an open palm. The Roselia spoke up first, cold and stern. "You're under arr- hey!"

Panic had seeped in before Drilbur knew what he was doing. The next thing he knew he was swimming through the sand as hard as he could. Ribbons of dust were tossed up behind him at his pursuers in an unending trail of Sand Attacks. Still their footprints were not far behind him. Out of the corner of his eye Drilbur could see the blue fur of the Riolu in the shadows of the early morning.

 _Get back to Monferno_. That was the one thought, frantic and gasping, that whirled around the mole's head. _Get back to Monferno. Get back to Monferno_. Repetition mechanized Drilbur to ignore his fears and put all his efforts into mobility. He dug faster and faster, and his pursuers applied pressure in response. The Riolu would zip in with a Quick Attack and attempt to tackle him, or the Roselia would form and hurl a Shadow Ball, and Drilbur would burrow beneath the sand to avoid them. Seconds later he would breach the surface again, and the distance between them shrunk. It was only a matter of time, and all he could hope for was for him to make it back before then. _Get back to Monferno. Get back to Monferno. Get back to Monferno. Get back to Monferno._

Then that endless cycle of thoughts was reached by another equally endless cycle. Orange light from a small flame cast softly on the walls ahead, through which the shadow of his companion could be seen. Drilbur was almost overwhelmed with joy, but that was quickly snuffed out when he saw her shadow was accompanied by another. Her own pursuer, of course. And now that he knew that, Drilbur knew exactly what had to be done.

Yet again he buried his nose in the sand and dove beneath the surface. The Roselia formed a Shadow Ball in her left hand, blobs of darkness collecting and compounding with the shifting sound of wind through a dry forest, and held it behind her patiently. At the very instant a mound of sand began to rise, she would hurl it directly in front of it and corner their target. And yet, there was no mound. The seconds crawled by with no sign of him resurfacing. Just as her fears began to surface, she too saw the glow of the flame just around the bend in the canyon. Fear grew into an adrenaline-fueled rage when she put the pieces together. The mole saw his comrade as an opportunity to ditch them, and thanks to the chaos she would make, he could escape unharmed.

And then Monferno arrived at a full sprint from around the bend in the canyon. Behind her dark eyes was an abyssal flame of fure and desperation. Combined with her ludicrous speed, making her appear to glide over the carpet of sand, the image reminded the Roselia of a revenant. Even the ashy piece of wood that was her splint was held out to her side like a weapon.

A ball of fire grew inside her mouth. She leapt forward and curled up into a ball, spinning, and as she did so the fire grew to consume her in a Flame Wheel. The space between them closed quickly. Next to her the Riolu burst towards the burning disk with a Quick Attack, arms braced ahead of him, and collided with her. It spun and ground against his paws, but his heels were anchored in place. With a frustrated grunt the disk exploded out into a thousand tiny embers, forcing the Riolu's eyes shut. Out of the shroud of flames Monferno planted her feet firmly on the ground and bashed the side of the Riolu's head with the ashy splint. The Fighting-type cried out and clutched the point of impact as he staggered backwards.

And then came the Charmander, he too in a full sprint. Blue flames of a Dragon Rage billowed from the corner of his mouth. He arched his neck back and opened his maw, but as he was launching it, his foot was snagged. The Dragon Rage shot far left and splashed onto the cliffs. The Charmander looked down, shocked, to see the Drilbur's claws with a firm hold around his ankle. With a sudden yank he was pulled down to his waist. Consumed with panic, he prepared another of his blue flames and hocked it beneath him, where a tunnel was gradually revealing itself. Drilbur's claws retracted, and seconds later he popped back up next to his partner, and there was but a moment of peace.

…

No one dared to move. The fugitives were surrounded on one side by an angry Charmander who just pulled himself back into the dirt, and on the other by an even angrier Riolu and a wary Roselia. And the hunters had their prey, one snarling Monferno and one panting Drilbur, pinned between them. If any of the five were to twitch, their stalemate would be disrupted. Here, the Roselia observed, they were granted an opportunity for diplomacy.

"I didn't get to finish earlier, when you ran," said Rose, somewhat accusingly. "Guild law states that, if possible, the suspects are to be given the option to surrender without a fight. One of you is already injured. You'd do well to consider it."

"Don't insult us," Monferno growled. "We've come too far to stop here."

"It isn't an insult, it's a call for reason," Pyro told her. "Even if you do win, you might end up with another broken arm. Or leg. Do you think you could make it out of here with that much weighing you down?" At that, Drilbur hesitated. His gaze flicked to the dirt as he momentarily considered. He did not speak for he did not know what he would say. Yet, his partner was anything but silent.

"Your 'reason' is little more than spit in our face," she sneered. "At our resolve and at our pride. If you think you've the upper hand from your little ambush, you'd best leave right now, or you'll be heading home limp over your friend's shoulders." Savage, stubborn words of one who cannot cut their losses, of one who will not amputate a poisoned finger to save the hand.

"Well you're not wrong. You _have_ gone too far." He pulled his paw away from the side of his head and showed them the scarlet smear. Briefly his eyes met with his team in silent communication. It was clear to all of them that diplomacy would fail, solely because Monferno was the most dangerous kind of stubborn. Her cause took priority not only over her own safety, but the safety of her companion as well. Drilbur's decision would not matter. When his team gave him wordless approval, Riley pressed on with a humorless grin.

"After a hit like that, I can't let you go anyways. You've made me bleed. As far as I'm concerned that's a personal challenge. I don't know much about that resolve of yours, but here's what I think." The Riolu twitched his nose, snorted, and then spat into the thirty desert between him and the Monferno. It was everything short of barking _fuck your resolve_ , and it worked. Just as he'd hoped Monferno brandished a predatory snarl. The role of agitator had been taken on tactfully, but Riley would be lying if he said he didn't enjoy it. "Just put 'em up. I don't care what brought you here. You've-"

…

Drilbur bolted forward, interrupting Riley's thuggish speech with a roar as fierce as the kid could manage. He locked eyes with the Riolu, who was frozen in surprise (wasn't he supposed to be meek?) long enough for the mole to close the distance. When he snapped back and shook the thought loose, he backstepped as Drilbur's claws swiped up at his face. The Roselia pointed her red flower at his back and prepared a Shadow Ball, but out of the corner of her eye the flames drew nearer. She backed up and whirled around as the monkey pounced for the Grass-type. The Shadow Ball congealed around her chest. It did not stop her, and her knee met with her opponent's chin and forced her off her feet.

As soon as Monferno touched the ground she was knocked back as the Riolu tackled her to the sand. Two swift punches crashed into her jaw, but the third was intercepted as she raised her hand to snatch her wrist. She snarled, and fire plumed out of her mouth as she coated herself in a Flame Wheel. The Riolu jumped off her, yet he wasn't quick enough. He braced his arms as the fiery disk collided with him, grinding and burning against his fur. It spun faster this time, and after mere seconds he was off his heels and laying on his back.

Drilbur lunged for the fallen Roselia, but an orb of blue flame walled him off. He whirled around just as the Charmander was upon them. Flames spilled from the corners of his mouth as he built up a Fire Fang. Drilbur raised his claws and swiped at him, but the Charmander weaved out of the way before sinking his jaws into the mole's shoulder. He screamed out, and in a moment of panic he raked at the Charmander's face with his claws. Some of the scales were pulled off and thin cuts formed on his face, and so the Charmander pulled back.

The mole began to follow it up, until he was suddenly snatched by thorny tendrils that grasped him by the waists and the arms. He could feel his strength being sapped away by the Giga Drain. His efforts to cut them, however, were fruitless. With a snarl, he managed to put his claws together in front of him and dove into the dirt. A surprised Roselia was yanked off her feet and dragged across the sand. The grip of her Giga Drain might have been firm around the Drilbur, but his hold on the tendrils matched it. She was nearly pulled into the mound of sand until the Charmander ran in on all fours and took the tendrils in his jaws. His teeth coated in fire, he snapped them in two, and a gasping Roselia offered her thanks.

Now that the surprise was gone, the two Fighting-types were in something akin to a duel. They danced around one another in a series of lunges and sweeps as punches flew in from either side. Most missed narrowly, and the ones that hit were either shrugged off or mere grazes. Attacks like those aren't the goal they were striving for. The goal was to predict and punish; something enforced in Riley in the proper duel two days prior.

Dodging a glancing blow, the Riolu's tail was sheathed in a coat of metal, and he whirled around to bash the Iron Tail into her. Monferno ducked under it, just letting it brush the tuft of hair on her head, and then swung with the ashy piece of wood. Riley jumped over it and flipped around to bring the Iron Tail down upon her. With a shocked gasp, she fell onto her back and raised her feet up and caught the tail with an audible grunt. Her knees were forced down to her chest, but they went no further. In the air the Riolu had nothing to push off of. Monferno roared, and with all her might she kicked against the Iron Tail. He soared into the cliff side and splayed out against the red stone.

When Riley opened his eyes again, Monferno was closing the distance. Her right fist was coated in a ball of flame, and her injured left hovered above the sand. Before he could stand up she was upon him, fist raised. Riley dodged to his left to go under the Fire Punch, but the left arm moved first, throwing a streak of sand into his eyes. Startled, his clean dash turned into a stumble, and Monferno landed a punch on his chin. The Riolu twirled around in the air before again splaying out on the ground, limp.

Drilbur surfaced again between the Roselia and the Charmander, immediately slashing at the Fire-type with his claws. By instinct alone the Charmander jumped back, just letting the tips of the mole's claws rake at his underbelly, and began to form blue flames in the back of his throat. He spat it out. Drilbur dodged under it, but a Shadow Ball hit him in the back, and the mole went into a stumbling sprint away from them. He clumsily ran to the cliff wall and sunk his claws into the red stone. They glistened and quivered, and the face of the cliff shook. Rock Slide. Boulders broke off and rained down. A frightened Pyro dove onto all fours and scampered away from the stone hail, and the Roselia followed as fast as she could. One of them, over three times her height, landed a mere foot to her left, partially burying itself lopsided. It fell over just as she ran by. Rose turned her head to face the mole only to see him burrow in the sand once again. Earlier she had convinced herself that letting him do that was one of the losing conditions, but the ferocity he displayed convinced her that he'd be back soon.

Being on the defensive wasn't Riley's style. Playing passively in a fast and frantic fight was more infuriating than challenging. Every time he opened his eyes, they stung. It didn't necessarily _hurt_ , but it got an involuntary reaction out of him. Like a static shock, or the prick of a needle, his body overreacted to a minor inconvenience. The actual difficulty came from clumsily dashing into the cliffside and getting hit by brutal attacks he couldn't see coming. Because he stayed mobile and defensive he was able to avoid those finishing blows by pure luck, but Riley had at least a couple dozen cuts and wounds. His senses weren't sharp enough to make up for his eyes.

His senses may not have been honed, but as his eyes stayed shut, Riley began to… see, in a way. In his mind he could see brief colorless glimpses at his immediate environment. He was between two boulders, both just barely larger than he was. His team was roughly thirty feet behind him, and Monferno was just ahead of him. Riley froze in shock when he got this, studying the image in confusion, before the thought was knocked from his head with a flaming punch to his snout. And then, seconds later as he was recovering, he received another image. His team was carefully looking at the ground, lost in their own fight, and not far away from them he could see the outline of Drilbur. Neither of those caught his attention, however, for he immediately noticed the colorless image of Monferno leaping up in the air with the ashy piece of wood raised above her head. Riley jumped back, grazing an arm against another of the fallen boulders, and as he thought, there it was: the soft _thud_ of her improvised club slamming into the desert ground. _Aura_ , Riley thought, remembering that was something Riolu could do. Grinning, he continued in his mind. _This is sweet. I should've tried this weeks ago_.

And with his eyes still shut, he began to throw punches of his own. His aura only gave him a glimpse every few seconds, so he had to make up for it with a lot of guessing and a lot of misses. His whole world was lagging. But a few times, his fist struck the bristly fur of his opponent. That moment right there, complimented with a frozen image of Monferno's puzzled face, was the most satisfying thing he'd done on any of his excursions.

This time when Drilbur emerged, it was directly beneath the Roselia, opening a hole in the ground and dragging her into it. She shrieked. So did Drilbur. His paw pad was pricked by a single thorn, dormant in her skin, that injected a mere few drops of her potent venom into the mole's blood. Already his arm felt the creep of an icy flame, and soon it would overwhelm him. He glared at the nymph who did this. She glared back with a sort of cold pleasure on her lips, simultaneously annoyed and angry and pleased. Though she may have been silent as she clung to the loose end of the tunnel, her eyes spoke volumes. And so did the dripping venom from between her petals. Drilbur recognized the move almost instantly; Venoshock. In fear, he threw up a torrent of sand at her, momentarily blinding Rose, and then began to burrow away again.

The Charmander forcefully grasped her arm and yanked her back up, whilst simultaneously pushing himself in after. He poked his head down the tunnel Drilbur escaped through and spat a small Flame Burst that cast orange light as it darted after him. It hit Drilbur in the thigh. He stifled a scream and paused momentarily, but through sheer will he dug as fast and as deep as he could. The salamander debated following after him, but he was smarter than that to pursue where he had no control. Instead he surfaced again and began to wait, anticipation burning in his eyes.

With the recent discovery of a new ability, Riley had been overcome with a sense of euphoria. It roused something within him to fight with rabid tenacity, zipping around with Quick Attacks and throwing Iron Tails and Force Palms at her. In response Monferno matched the pace of his sporadic dance. She weaved through his attacks just as he weaved through hers. They remained close enough to feel the other's frantic breathing through their fur. A Fire Punch glanced off Riley's chin. He pivoted around and swung his Iron Tail to her left. She blocked it with the ashy piece of wood, hissing with pain as the impact went into her injured arm.

But this refound zeal wasn't enough to tip the scales. As fun as it was, having to rely on an unpolished ability was a severe hindrance. After dashing backwards, his right arm swelled with aura, and a second later he aimed his palm at the desert sand. The astral flower bloomed, and a cloud of sand and dust burst outwards. It consumed the Riolu, the Monferno, and the boulders shook loose by the Rock Slide. It consumed the Roselia and the Charmander. A small current of it traveled down Drilbur's tunnel and assaulted him with a hundred grains, serving only to distract him momentarily. For those on the surface, it was a sandstorm with the ferocity of a wild Hippowdon, yet the lifespan of a Butterfree. A fierce gale battered Monferno with a thousand microscopic razors, forcing her good arm to cover her face. When it reached his teammates all the power behind it was gone, and it may as well have been a handful of sand. A second and a half later there was only a thin haze of dust, and the Riolu emerged from the epicenter of his sandstorm with his eyes open again.

Immediately he leapt forward with yet another Quick Attack, flipping in the air and swinging an Iron Tail down at her. Monferno narrowly dodged and punished him by clubbing him in the head with the ashy piece of wood, using all the force she could muster. Riley staggered back and dropped to one knee in a daze. Baring her teeth, Monferno raised her improvised weapon above her head and brought it down like an axe. Riley dove out of the way and to one of the loose boulders, then sprang back with a fist cocked back. He slugged her in the jaw, sending her stumbling back, and continued speeding right past her. When he met with the cliff wall, he pushed off it with another Quick Attack and swept at her feet with an Iron Tail. She adapted quickly and caught herself with her good hand, shifting her momentum so that her foot slammed down on the Riolu's back, pinning him. Again Monferno raised the improvised weapon and brought it down, now making contact with Riley's shoulder blades. He tried to resist, but he couldn't, and he howled with pain.

Rose stood on edge with her back to Pyro, both of whom were carefully searching the ground for any sign of movement beneath. Sagging sand, bulging mounds, muffled digging… Their senses were piqued, but it didn't help that they had to frequently glance over to the two Fighting-types to measure how their battle was going. Poison oozed from her petals in thick drops. If that mole showed himself again, her queued Venoshock would have something to say about that, and likely so would Pyro. Now all they had to do was wait for him to surface, and then prevent him from diving again. Simple in theory, yet bound to be chaotic in execution.

But the plan was lost when her eyes returned to the Riolu to see him struggling to get to his knees, and the Monferno sprinting towards them. Immediately she had but one thought: _You had_ one _job. One. Job._ It only lasted for an instant, like the spark of a match, before being snuffed out in a storm of panic. The abyssal flame within the monkey's eyes were set directly at her, and her right hand was sheathed in fire just for her.

Rose nudged the Charmander's back. "She's coming. Get ready." He _was_ ready. Pyro whirled around without a second's hesitation and pushed his partner out of the way. Monferno pounced at him and threw her Fire Punch into the side of his face. He barely even budged. With his teeth brandished, the Charmander raked his claws across her face in two fierce slashes. She stumbled back. Another Dragon Rage began compiling in his throat, but he choked on it as the ground beneath him opened up. Drilbur had a firm grasp of his ankle and pulled with all his strength. Pyro kicked at his snout and his face, but the mole did not stop until he was buried up to his waist, and made sure he stayed there. When Pyro looked back up, there was Monferno, jumping in at full speed and driving her knee into his chin. Spittle sprayed from his mouth, and he fell back into the sands in a daze. His blazing blue eyes were now glazed over.

She turned her attention to a grimacing Roselia whose blue rose aimed directly at her. On instinct alone she dove out of the way as a shimmering cloud of Stun Spores blossomed out before her. Growling, she sheathed her fist in flame, only for it to be snatched in the thorny tendrils of a Giga Drain. Her strength was rapidly being sapped away, her clenched fist growing slack. But every ounce of strength taken was replaced by sheer will. Her reserve was nearly gone. With the last of it, she pulled back on the vines, lifting the Roselia off her feet, and then Monferno bashed her forehead into the Grass-type's. The Giga Drain released its grasp, and its user fell weakly into the dirt.

"D…" Monferno wheezed for air. "Drilbur!" she shouted. Over her shoulder she could see the Riolu was up to his knees and glaring up at her. _Ten seconds_ , she reconned. _Better make this quick_.

Just to her left the mole emerged. His face was alight with pride and frenzy. That was good. "What is it?" Drilbur asked. Monferno raised her left fist above him and finally let it slacken. The burlap sack she carried fell, and Drilbur narrowly caught it by the tail end. He looked at it curiously, and then, he knew. A feeling of betrayal consumed his face as he looked back up to her. "You can't be…"

"Get outta here," she demanded, speaking quickly.

"But, we're doing-"

"Time is a factor. Start moving," she barked.

"Oh no you don't." It was the Riolu, hissing through his teeth and sprinting towards them. "I was just starting to get into this. Ain't no way I'm letting you bail now!"

"Tch." Monferno pivoted and crouched, but so had the Riolu. His Iron Tail clubbed her right shoulder. She grunted, suppressing her pain, and crumpled further to the ground. Behind her Drilbur leapt out of his hole like a Milotic out of the water. His claws unleashed a flurry of slashes. Fury Swipes. The first two hit the arms he raised to block and the third just barely grazed him. After that the Riolu backed up and batted him away with a kick. When he turned back to his desired opponent, she was on her feet and slammed another Fire Punch into his jaw. He staggered backwards.

"I've already told you," Drilbur growled. He stood up once again, this time directing his attention to the Charmander. The glaze was gone, melted away by the twin dragon rages that burned in his eyes. As his foot stamped on the ground, having dug himself free once again, he was seething. Serpents of smoke slithered from his nostrils.

"This isn't the time to-" _debate this_ , Monferno was about to finish, but Drilbur already knew that. Unfortunately he wasn't on her side, and Drilbur was running the short distance to continue the fight. His claws scraped against the ground and tossed a streak of sand at the Charmander's face. The salamander charged right through it. Sand hit his eyes, but he didn't falter. They remained open, even as his jaws, wreathed in fire, bit down into the mole's neck, piercing the skin and cauterizing the wounds they formed. And it was right then when Monferno knew what she had to do.

With a sigh, her right hand reached for her left shoulder where a strip of cloth kept the ashy piece of wood bound to her. She undid it, and both the cloth and the wood fell to the desert floor. For a moment there was a twinge of pain, but nothing compared to what she'd done to it herself. Had she really believed that her arm could be salvaged when she insisted on using it so? No, she supposed she hadn't. Her left hand, stiff and weak but fueled solely by her resolve, gripped the ashy piece of wood properly. The battle was seconds away from being over.

Behind her the Riolu was back up, but he wasn't swinging. Adrenaline was still coursing through his veins, and his posture told that he was one twitch away from entering combat once again, but his eyes were alight with piqued curiosity. "What do you think you're doing?" he asked. It struck Monferno as a silly thing to ask in the middle of a brawl, and it honestly was. In response, she merely clicked her tongue, and then swung the piece of wood high in both hands. As she predicted, the Riolu ducked, and then she followed it up with a swift sweep with her leg. She took out his ankle, and he collapsed to the ground.

Monferno pivoted around to her partner, and she was running before she could even make out what she was seeing. The Charmander's jaws were sinking deeper into the mole. Splotches of red formed around his maw. Drilbur, between stifled grunts and silent, breathy cries, slashed at wherever he could on his attacker. His face, his neck, his back, his stomach. Some of them drew faint bits of blood. None of them stopped the Charmander's jaws. For a moment, Monferno was appalled. The next, she hurled the stick. It spun and spun in the air, and by the time the Charmander saw it, it had already hit him square in the forehead. His jaws let go. Drilbur pushed free. Pyro splayed out on the ground with a fresh wound feeding the thirsty sands.

The mole looked up to thank her, but she hadn't stopped running. Her right hand clutched Drilbur's ankle and pulled him along. A second later she was almost cradling him. So many things were running through his head, from anger to excitement to determination, that it made his mind even more clustered.

"What are y-"

In mid-stride Monferno abruptly crouched down, only to spring high into the air as high as she could. She lifted her companion above her head. He struggled against her, but her grip was too firm. With one sharp inhale, she screamed, "Run already!" She catapulted Drilbur even higher, using every ounce of strength left in her, along with much of the strength she would have in the future. Something snapped in her left arm. She couldn't feel it. All the gas in her tank was used up. Her form broke, and Monferno face planted in the sand. She couldn't see Drilbur turn his head and reach for her uselessly as he soared higher and higher. She could barely hear his shout trail after him through her clouded mind, _Ferniiiiiii!_ The battle was over.

…

Four minutes passed. Monferno had been set against the red cliff wall, where she sat with her head laid back and her limbs limp beside her. Rose, who stood guard at a distance ahead of her, had immobilized her with a Stun Spore, and close by, Pyro had a hand pressed firmly against his forehead to suppress his own wound and the headache that came as a result. No one said a word. The Guildmembers' bitter grimaces and the fugitive's exhausted yet pleased grin said it all.

Metallic screeching cut through the morning silence. Above them the Riolu, against a sky colored with strokes of dawn, slowed his descent with an Iron Thorn stabbed into the stone. It snapped a fifth of the way down, and Riley landed with a heavy thud.

"No luck," He said the instant he landed through tightly shut teeth. "Couldn't find the bastard anywhere. Wherever he went, he covered his tracks well."

"Oh lord," Rose whimpered, her mouth hidden in her blue flower. "We need… we need to get word up to the north somehow, as soon as possible. Someone's gotta intercept him." For an instant her gaze flicked to the ground as she made some split-second calculations. "We can make it to the nearest town by nightfall if we run most of the way. We should have enough for a prime Express Pokemon to take us."

"If we brought more supplies, we could probably pursue him," muttered Pyro. It was the only insight he could extract from his aching skull. Everything else was just echoing doubt and frustration.

"We'll depart in fifteen," Rose stated, assuming charge of this crumbling operation. "Rest up. Eat. Drink. There's a rough day ahead of us, and I want to get out of here before this place heats up again." She got no response from either of her teammates, and their prisoner was on the verge of passing out from exhaustion and pain. Spirits were low. Even her own, despite taking back the role of leader. It was doubtful that this short break would be enough to bolster morale, but it would have to be, lest they return home failures.

She was nearly about to sit down until she saw Riley stop abruptly in front of Monferno. His face was alight with hatred, and his fists were clenched and surging with aura. He glared into Monferno's half-open eyes. "What gives you the right?" he hissed through his teeth. "You can't just end it like that. What gives you the _right_?!"

The fugitive stared up in a haze of confusion, some brought on by her exhaustion, some genuine befuddlement. "Wha…?"

"It was a fair fight!" Riley barked. "It was a fair fight, and you threw it away right at the end. What happened to that pride you were talking about earlier?!"

Mouth half-open, Monferno sluggishly turned to the Roselia. The small Grass-type watched on in a sort of studious curiosity as she internally debated whether to step in. "What's he going on about?" asked Monferno.

Rose hesitated for a moment, then decided to speak up. "Forget it, Riley. Screaming at her won't fix anything. You're wasting your breath."

He didn't walk away, but he did keep himself from screaming any further. Teeth clicked together as the Riolu bit down on nothing in particular. "And to think I began to respect you," he mumbled, and then kicked at the sand.

"Wait." Monferno had heard this kind of talk before, and remembering it cleared the haze in her mind. Prioritizing honor in a fight, as if every match was a duel instead of a desperate struggle for victory, was the outlook she had seen countless times in the raw faces of fresh, often young warriors. The Riolu fit that almost perfectly, so delusional that he sees an arena spring up around him each time he picks a fight. And the fact that she was defeated by someone so raw made her furious enough for her tail to blaze. "Just what the hell do you think this is?"

"I was just about to ask the same thing." He pivoted to walk away, but locked up halfway through the motion, and then whirled back. Brick-red eyes were alight with controlled rage. "I _thought_ you were going to show me your resolve the hard way. I _thought_ you were going to make me _feel_ the weight behind your fists. I _thought_ you wanted-"

" _Riley_." The Charmander's voice carried with it a frigid edge that stopped the addressed in his place. Out of the corner of his vision Riley could see his gaze locked onto him with those twin Dragon Rages. They were tamer than usual, like a mere torch compared to the bonfires that ignited in battle, but seeing them directed at him did give Riley pause. "You've gotten too invested in this. Fugitives like Monferno aren't honor-bound to finish a fight. Most of them fight dirty. Most of them will run. Some will give up in order to screw you over, like she did. If you're going to be a bounty hunter, you need to remember that last word: _hunter_. Do you understand?"

A moment passed which Riley used to process. In some way he had already known that. Bounty hunting was not about defeating your target, it's only about capturing them. The two often go hand-in-hand, but they should not be mistaken for the same thing. After all, if he had a bounty on his head, he likely wouldn't bother dueling each pursuer. There are things beyond a good fight, but once one started, Riley had a tough time seeing that. This would be something he'd have to overcome, yet even knowing this, it still left him feeling hollowed, unfulfilled. He neither won nor lost.

"Yeah." He nodded twice, seemed to mull something over for a second longer, and then finally stepped away. The anger wasn't entirely gone, but merely soothed to a lower, longer burn. "I understand. I have t-"

In the middle of his stride the Riolu abruptly froze. Another of those colorless images pinged into his mind, and in it he could see something in the stone cliffs. Its shape was murky, perhaps because of distance or interference, but whatever this was fascinated Riley. It had an aura of its own, so it had to be another Pokemon, but what could have drilled its way through…

Just before he pieced it together himself, a hole broke open in the cliffside, and from it a hundred rocks blasted out like shotgun pellets. Many of them hit Riley in the arms and the chest and the face, leaving bruises and cuts in their wake. A few strays pelted Pyro's head. One bounced off the opposing cliff and hit Monferno, but by then it had lost much of its power and barely even hurt.

And from this hole emerged Drilbur once again, fur matted with dirt, breathing heavy, cold breaths as the toxins had made his muscles stiff. Even now his eyes were alight with anger as they swept the scene. Everyone gawked back, Monferno included. When the fugitives met their gazes, the mole ran to her and stood in front of her like a guardian knight. In turn, the party exchanged glances filled with disbelief and urgency. They too went into formation. The Riolu and Charmander blocked their escape routes, whilst the Roselia stood ahead of them with poison oozing from her petals.

Monferno's body quivered as she struggled to move herself. After some effort and audible grunts, she got herself up to one knee, and glared up at Drilbur. "What have you _done?!_ " she seethed. "All you had to do was run! It was all but guaranteed!"

"I _told_ you, time and time again. Why won't you listen to me?!" He stared straight ahead at the Explorers. If he was forced to stare Monferno in the face and see the betrayal that was written there, his resolve would buckle. He couldn't have that.

"That's a laugh!" Monferno barked humorlessly. " _I_ don't listen?! You're the one who's been ignoring reason this entire damned journey! Just del-"

"'Deliver the letter. No more, no less,'" he finished, spitting venom. "Like that's all that matters."

"It _is_ ," she countered. "And you _fucked us out of it!_ "

"Because I care about you more than some stupid letter!" he screamed, his voice cracking. "You're the closest friend I have. I couldn't live with myself if I ran away and let you be dragged back home." There was a short pause, during which Monferno's fiery rage was quelled. The abyssal fire in her eyes was doused, for they were focused on a glistening tear that hung from Drilbur's chin. Soon it was joined by another. "H… Hodrick is gone. That _selfish, meek little coward_ is gone, and I… I've gotta step up and be who he never could: someone who can stand by your side, through the good and the bad. And I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry. I guess I'm still a bit selfish." Here Drilbur tilted his head just so he could see Monferno. Through shimmering eyes that held pools of tears he could see Ferni. For the first time, she looked soft, as if she didn't know exactly what to say… No. No, that wasn't it at all. There were too many things to say, so none of them made it out. All she could manage was a smile. It was as radiant a smile as she could ever hope to manage. Drilbur began to sob. "I guess this is it, huh?"

"No." Her voice was quiet, barely above a mumble. She rested her good hand on Drilbur's shoulder and used him to get to her unsteady feet. "It's not over yet. Selfish or not, we _have_ to get out of this. Right?"

"R.." Drilbur wiped at his face, and when his claws were back at his side, there was a look of fierce determination behind a thin veil of tears. "Right!" Next to him, Monferno entered a parody of her former stance. That left arm that once was used as a menacing club now swung limp and twisted unnaturally at her side. Even still she shared that ferocity. Not just cornered animals, but a cornered family. _If it had been like this from the beginning_ , Riley thought as he watched this with an awe-stricken grin, _things would have been different_.

Unfortunately they hadn't, and the fight was over before it even started.

…

The two prisoners, formerly fugitives, were bound in manacles around their wrists and ankles. They couldn't walk without the chains pulling themselves taut before a full stride was complete. Neither Drilbur nor Monferno wished to run anyways. Being in the Guild office scratched that option off the list with a spike.

They had been brought back into Treasure Town that afternoon already in chains. Both of the prisoners walked behind the Explorers with the solemn acceptance of criminals heading towards the gallows. But they did not meet with a noose. Far worse, what awaited them was legal proceedings. The Guildmaster, finishing up with another smaller case seconds prior, sighed quietly and then gestured them in. It was both out of annoyance and relief. On one end, more work, more time spent in that chair, more grating scratches of his quill against paper, but on the other, the client would finally get to leave.

Their client, a prim-looking Dewott with sleek fur and beady eyes, had been waiting for them to arrive. When they opened the grand doors to the bland-looking office, the Water-type darted his head around to see the new faces that came in. He absolutely lit up with sick delight to see that they were successful. To hear about it was a relief, but to see the runaways chained up and ready to be given back was just plain satisfying.

He only let this show on his face for an instant before he slipped on the mask of diplomacy. "Excellent work," he congratulated. "Thank you dearly. I knew I was right to trust the Guild with this task, team… Hellraisers, was it?"

"That's right," confirmed the Roselia. The Dewott suppressed a chuckle. Sure enough, these children had picked a childish name. This right here was a perfect example for what the Guild really was. "No thanks is necessary. Just doing our job, sir."

"Never take others for granted. You may not take it personally, but you three really have helped out more than you'll know. You have my thanks, and that of my Lord, necessary or not." The Dewott bowed his head. Rose repeated the gesture. So did her companions. The Dewott began to meander towards Gallade's desk where he rested a small wooden chest, but the harsh look of the Guildmaster's single eye stopped him in his tracks.

"The job is not yet complete," he stated plainly, but with a faint warning lying underneath. "There's a couple more proceedings that must take place. Just a couple minutes, if you will."

The Dewott had no choice but to agree, and so silently and patiently stepped aside. Upon request, the Roselia offered a short testimony of the events. How they found them, what they were doing, how they responded to the arrest, and a few minor details here and there. Riley and Pyro added their own afterwards, with only a few differing touches. Once it was done, they placed the prisoners' belongings, a torn burlap sack with some basic supplies and one sealed envelope, on the Guildmaster's desk. Gallade scribbled some things down, and as they finished speaking, turned to the two prisoners who had silently been staring straight ahead, meeting no one's gaze.

"Monferno and Hodrick-" Drilbur seized up when he heard his name utter, but Monferno placed her hand on his shoulder to calm him, "the both of you have been charged with the crimes of theft, smuggling information, and resisting arrest. How do you plead?"

"It's as you say," Monferno admitted. "What do you say here? Sinful? Guilty?"

"Guilty," Gallade repeated, and then returned to the piece of paper. More scrawling. Without looking back up, he said lifelessly, "Miss Rose, you may finish up with the client and then go about your business. I'll handle it from here."

"Yes sir," she said. Taking the hint, the Dewott opened up the wooden chest. There were belongings taking up the majority of it, but they were hidden under a blanket of some sort, and on top there rested three things. Two of them were small velvet bags holding coins (half for the team, half for the guild directly), and the other was a silvery disk. A TM that reportedly held Energy Ball, for potential use if Rose chose to alter her movepool. A few more pleasantries later, the team left to grab an early dinner.

When the door clicked shut behind them, the client and the prisoners finally acknowledged one another. First they eyed the Guildmaster, who was ignoring them in reluctant favor for the necessary legal work that needed him. Dipping the Articuno quill in the inkwell, he left them alone. They ceased to be the client and the prisoners, but now resumed their former identities. Hodrick the runaway noble, his conspiring retainer Monferno, and Odun, son of Duke Louis from across the seas, who came to catch them. Odun bore his teeth in a smile. Monferno bore hers in a grimace. Drilbur, refusing to use his name, did nothing but glare.

The Dewott spoke first. "You were probably hoping never to see me again, weren't you? I know I wouldn't if I were in your place."

"Wipe that grin off before you drool all over the place," Monferno scowled.

Odun checked himself, and indeed, he was salivating. He didn't let that stop him. "It seems I was hungry to bring you back. The pride of the house depended on me, after all."

"And you had to hire Explorers to do your work for you. Some pride you've got there." She finished by spitting between his feet. The Dewott stared down at the puddle for a surprising amount of time as that smile of his began to wilt.

He inhaled deeply. "With such a _charming_ personality, it's no wonder I almost trusted you," Odun stated quizaciously. "Exiled _freak_. Make your peace while you still can. If you're lucky, Duke Levaunt will merely kill you. And _you_ , Hodrick-"

"That's _not_ my name anymore," growled the mole, furious but not letting it show on his face. "The Pokemon it belonged to is no more."

"... Sure, whatever," Odun waved away. "Whatever your name is (or was), I don't think it can really save you either. Don't expect to see each other again."

"Was it worth it?" It was Gallade who spoke, his face still set towards one final sheet of paper, as he finished jotting the rest of it down. His guests all stared at him, remembering he existed. The Guildmaster finished up one last sentence, added a little flare by dropping the quill back in the inkwell, and then laid out the recently-finished documents to dry. Life flooded back into his face as he joined in the conversation like he was mingling at a party. "You must've known that this was a possibility. Now that your adventure has come to a close, do you think you'd do it again?"

"What kind of question is that?" Monferno asked, in a surprisingly conversational tone. "Of course I would. I wouldn't have set out if I could be so easily dissuaded. Right, Drilbur?" He nodded in response.

"Really now," Gallade muttered to himself.

"I know." The Dewott crossed his arms. "Blind ideologues willing to throw not just their life, not just the lives of their friends, but the fate of the world into the fires of chaos… They're terrifying. They must be stopped."

"'Blind?'" Drilbur spat. "You're calling _us_ blind, you pompous-"

"You have a long ride home," Gallade stated, in his forcefully diplomatic tone of voice. His I-want-to-be-friendly-but-so-help-me-I-will-force-you-to-calm-down-if-you-don't-do-it-yourself voice. "Please, save your bickering for then. I prefer not to be a witness to your shouting match." Silence. When Gallade spoke that way, it had a tendency to get that reaction out of anyone. Even between heated enemies it formed an unsteady peace. "Right. Now, everything is just about finished up here. There's just one last thing…" The Guildmaster leaned forward, slipping his hand into the burlap sack containing the prisoners' belongings.

"What do you think you're doing?" Odun asked even before Gallade removed the desired object, but it didn't stop him from extracting the sealed envelope and holding it out in front of him. "That's not yours. You can't do that."

"Sir Odun, I don't know if you read it or not, but the Guild takes its job _very_ seriously. Even if the accused claims themselves to be guilty, we must have some evidence to go on. All we have is your word. As you must know, a testimony is the lowest form of evidence, and only becomes valuable when compared to hard data," he rambled.

The Dewott stared at him in shock. "Are you calling me a liar?" he asked, daring him to answer.

"I don't know what I'm calling you yet," Gallade shrugged, and then sprouted a sly smirk. "But let me put it to you this way. These two here stole this letter and attempted to smuggle it all the way north. They did it personally, so I can infer that its contents were far too important to let it possibly be caught in the mail. Does this sound right so far?" Odun hesitated an instant before nodding. Next to him the prisoners noticeably tensed up. "Okay. They've agreed that they would do this again. I can admire this attitude. It's the words of a martyr who is about to die for their cause, knowing that it will continue without them. Perhaps because they shall be an inspiration, or perhaps… because they're a decoy."

"... What?!" exclaimed the Dewott, beady eyes blazing with fury. "You mean they-"

" _They?_ " Gallade broke in. "I've been doing this for a long time. Two lower fugitives serve as a distraction, and when they're arrested, an associate comes to pick them up. They underestimate us and think that such a scheme could work. Now do you understand?" There was a brief pause, during which no one spoke, and the possibility sank further and further in. Monferno and Drilbur looked to each other and communicated with expressions alone. "Now, this is not an accusation, but merely an example of why I must be so thorough. This possibility can be waved away depending on the content of this letter. After all, why would a decoy be equipped with such information?"

"You…" Odun sighed, shook his head, and grinned a bitter, humorless grin. "You devil. Levaunt warned me about you, and I should've listened… Go on then. Open it. Just know, he _will_ hear about this."

"Fine by me." Gallade darted his single eye over to Drilbur and Monferno, both still silent, both now looking in frightened anticipation. And then, the wax seal was broken, and the parchment inside was extracted. He read line by line of the elegant calligraphy. Slowly his interest turned to enthrallment, enthrallment turned to anxiety, anxiety turned into dread. He hadn't even passed the halfway mark before the Guildmaster slammed the piece of paper onto the desk, shattering the silence. His guests jolted back.

"I should burn this," Gallade grumbled through his teeth.

"S-still think they're decoys?" Even despite his own unease, Odun hadn't let that humorless grin fade.

"Is the entire world a show to you? Is this what Baltre is about nowadays?"

Monferno couldn't help but to smirk, either from anxiety or genuine delight from seeing the illustrious Guildmaster lose his cool. "The truth is always ha-"

" _You_ keep quiet," Gallade scowled. His palm smacked the desk like a judge swings his gavel, and then clenched a fist, crinkling the profaned letter. "If you managed to bring this to the right Pokemon, you wouldn't just change the war, you'd change the whole damned world. Trust would have been annihilated. The only place that would be left unchanged would be Makoto, and that's only because they're too busy worrying about themselves to give a damn about the rest of the world. The whole nation of Baltre could be a council of cackling crones watching from across the sea like it's some damned theatre performance, but _you_ … The two of you are either the greatest fools I've ever seen, or you're the most vile Pokemon to ever breathe."

Drilbur lurched forward with fire in his eyes, but before he could even attempt to open his mouth, he found himself unable to move. The mole had frozen up with one foot barely raised in the beginning of a short stride, and despite all his efforts, he couldn't move. He couldn't open his mouth to communicate his shock. He couldn't even breathe. Next to him, Monferno was going through the same thing, as if her entire body had turned to stone. Even Odun, that pompous Dewott who would never let him forget that they had done him a favor by granting the meek Hodrick sanctuary, was paralyzed.

Gallade stood up, and suddenly it clicked in all three of their minds: _Psychic_. Telekinesis locked them into place where they stood. It wasn't unheard of to use it for restraint, but to completely paralyze someone took a great amount of effort. To do it to three at once would be too much strain to bare even on an experienced knight. What would that make the Guildmaster?

"You three are in my home. This Guild is my family, and the Pokemon we protect are all my neighbors. They are _all_ mine." A drop of blood formed at the corner of his mouth. It seemed that even the Guildmaster had his limits. Even so, something about the contrast of red on white skin when added to Gallade's genuine fury was legitimately terrifying. "Mine is a realm of peace. We are strong so Pokemon don't need to be. And if you pose a threat to anything of mine, you'd better pray for forgiveness, because you sure as hell won't get any from me. Are we clear?"

His guests didn't answer. Even if they were capable of moving, none but Odun would have been able to utter something. A minute had passed. Gallade's words had sunk deep into their minds, and his presence loomed over them like some kind of malevolent deity. The job was effectively done. When his telekinetic grip let go, there were three simultaneous gasps for air. Enemies had been united temporarily through terror, and they all watched with a brew of fear and anger as the Guildmaster held up the letter.

"I'm keeping this," he stated coldly.

"Y-you can't," stammered the Dewott, panicked but pressing forward. Apparently his fear of going home with one objective failed was greater than confronting the Guildmaster. "According to your own rules, the objects of desire must be returned to-"

"Page four, paragraph seven. 'If an investigation requires an object of desire to be confiscated for further inquiry or because it is deemed hazardous, the Guild may confiscate it temporarily until the matter is resolved. If it is required to be confiscated indefinitely, then the client must be duly compensated for the object of desire," he recited, rolling off his tongue as if practiced. "You're being compensated with my silence. That sounds fair, doesn't it?"

"You…!" Odun reached for the razor-edged scallop on his hip, but couldn't go far enough to touch it. What would happen if he did? He decided that his honor wasn't worth risking. Through his teeth, he hissed, "You're going to hear from Levaunt about this. Mark my words."

"No. I won't." Those were the last words spoken in the office, and they left shortly after. The letter was promptly burned and its message was lost with it. It may as well have been that nothing happened at all, and that was for the better. Someone would have to confront the nobles of Baltre some day… But it won't be any time soon. Years, maybe, when things end up calming down. No one would ever know that Team Hellraisers prevented the desert kingdom from raising hell. No one, not even themselves, would know that they might have saved the world.


	26. Chapter 26: A Waning Warrior

Twilight was upon Treasure Town that evening, orange being conquered by a dark purple as the sunset was forced to retreat beyond the horizon. Its Pokemon were restless, as in the recent days news of the Slaughter of Llaffan spread throughout the town. There was no progress made towards catching the graceful beast. It was only natural that they should be afraid, for that kind of destruction, far exaggerated beyond reality, loomed over them as well. The only thing that kept them from fearing for their lives was the Guild, who themselves stood at the top of that hill, a simple-looking cabin that still somehow stood prominent and powerful. So they were nervous, and many were at a loss for what could only be called terrorism, but they managed to get by. Little did they know that they were right to be so afraid.

This night that would go down in infamy was also the night of a lunar eclipse **,** which brought many out of their homes to watch. Even though there was still hours until the full eclipse, they were out and about, conversing as if it were still daytime. There would be parties to watch it together. To some, the moon had meaning. To others it was a rare occurrence, and had last been seen from their own backyards over twenty years ago. As Treasure Town had very little light pollution yet more tourist appeal than other such countries, Pokemon had traveled from far and wide to get the clearest view. Even some from the northern desert had ventured south so that they may witness it without the haze granted by all the dust in the air.

Bisharp was among them. He bought a room at the local _Sleeping Stallion_ and there he remained. Right now it had a view of the moon, pale white with a twinge of yellow like cheese, but as the night progressed it would move out from the window's vista. Even still he watched it with some interest. And he wasn't alone either. Not too far away, an Alakazam levitated in place, with two novels floating in front of his face. _Graveler's Travels_ and _Phantump of the Opera_. On the bed there lay a Dragonite, stretched out on his back and napping. On his side he bore a small scar from a stab he took not long before this. And Bisharp's final roommate was a Marowak, sat against the wall with his right knee up near his chest, and the matching wrist resting upon it. The curved, slender bone leaned against his shoulder tenderly, almost delicately, almost lovingly. For some time they stewed in silence, with only the soft sound of Dragonite's breathing to pass the time.

It was minutes before sunset when their expected guest and unwilling mediator opened the door. Weavile came in without knocking and without speaking. That was for the better. After all she was now in enemy territory, and more than that, she was plotting in enemy territory. If by chance Weavile was discovered, this would be the end of her. And there was no way in hell that she would let Bisharp get _her_ killed here. Not when, after this, she would be on the verge of taking the syndicate. So she kept her cool. Murkrow, who came in directly behind her, did the same. He looked no one in the eyes and stuck himself to Weavile's heels.

"I got them all," she stated, low and cool. "Twenty of them. But you already know that, don't you?"

Bisharp didn't give a verbal answer, but the twinge of a smile was answer enough. Alakazam spoke up in his place, just above a murmur. "And where would they be?"

"I thought you'd be watching them?" Weavile asked. There was no coy smile, no hint of sarcasm in her voice, but it was there all the same. Alakazam shot her a glare. _Answer the damn question_ , it seemed to say. She did. "They're set to arrive slowly by ones and twos to avoid attention. Everyone should be at the skull about twenty minutes before midnight."

There was a brief pause in the Psychic-type. The gears clicked, and calculations ran in his head, until he seemed to ease back again and give a slight nod. "That should work." Just like that he returned to his novels.

"I don't know if I'll have the chance later," said Bisharp. Now his voice was more sweet than terrible, but it was still chilling; perhaps more than usual because he was trying to be sweet. He turned around, face obscured in shadows, towards Weavile. "I'd like to thank you for doing this. You're helping more than you know, and it's a shame you didn't eat much when I invited you to dinner. Now I feel like I'm indebted to you."

Weavile put a claw on her hip. "You're _threatening_ me into doing this," she spat, keeping her composure. Murkrow nudged her back with his wing, but she ignored him. "Take your 'thanks' and shove it up your ass. I wouldn't be doing this if you hadn't planned on cooking me."

"Insolent imp," growled Marowak, a hand reaching for the bone. "I'm inclined to immolate you for insisting-"

"Easy now," Bisharp soothed, opening a hand towards the Ground-type. "It's okay. Really, what does a few harsh words matter? After all, she is right, but that doesn't change how I feel. Can I not have gratitude towards a slave?"

"Slave?" Weavile repeated. She could feel the venom in her voice.

"Let it go, Weavile," warned Murkrow. "We can't afford to fight here."

Bisharp grinned, playful in both a friendly and very unfriendly way. It was hard to tell if, in his eyes, she was viewed as either a pupil or a victim. "Wise words. Conflict before setting out to war is as close to suicide as you can get," he said. "In fact, in Makoto to the east, many tribes have a tradition. When a small group is set to go to war, usually of five or six, they would make amends with one another. Apologize for everything, and perhaps things that were weighing on their hearts, so they may fight with a clear mind, and perhaps die with a clear conscience." During the course of this sentence, Bisharp's gaze had drifted over to Marowak, where it remained for several seconds.

Marowak sighed, taking the hint. "My… apologies for almost attacking. Anxieties are abound among us." Uttering the words was undoubtedly painful for him. Even beneath his mask the sheer anger he held back was palpable.

"Does… does he always speak like that?" Weavile whispered.

"Alliterating? Alas, his lines are always alight with alliteration. His argot awareness attempts to abolish the all-knowing Alakazam's authority on literary apprehension," Bisharp bemused, then briefly chuckled at the sheer confusion he created. "Couldn't tell you why though."

"Seems like a lot of pointless work," Murkrow mumbled.

"You're not wrong," Bisharp agreed. There was silence for a moment longer, and then Bisharp turned around, steel-clad feet clicking against the wooden floor, to return to his window. The pale yellow moon was calling his attention. He leaned out the windowsill, a hand supporting him by his rusted chin. Fingers drummed along the wood in a rhythmic series of ticks. "I do want to know, however, what you're doing here," he said, no louder than a murmur. "It's been a busy week for both of us, but I believe I said I wanted to meet you at Groudon's skull, about forty minutes from now. I'm glad you're here and all, but, pardon me for being skeptical that you came just to check up on me."

Weavile swallowed, nervous, but not knowing why she was. There was something about the way the Steel-type talked that made each word, smalltalk to harsh, lustful threats, come wrapped in a personal vendetta. Indeed, she did come here with a question in mind. Before she went and risked her life she was hoping for some sort of insight. Mostly she wanted to know just how this attack was provoked. And she would ask. By Arceus, Weavile wouldn't be intimidated into keeping her mouth shut here of all places, but the words caught in her throat. Confronting Bisharp wasn't a pleasant idea. But, what were her other options?

After a short breath, Weavile blurted her question out. "What do you plan to gain from assaulting the Guild?" After willing herself to say it, she felt a weight shrug off her shoulders, but before she could feel relieved, there came over her an oppressive silence, hanging over her with a sense of dread like the blade of a guillotine. Alakazam's attention shifted from the books to the Ice-type. Marowak's razor-sharp gaze sharpened further. Even Dragonite, magically roused from his nap, opened a single eye to watch what was about to happen.

Steel-clad feet clicked again as Bisharp gradually turned around half-way. Pale moonlight illuminated his face, revealing a set of green eyes, peaceful and alluring like a field of sweet grass. They hadn't been that color before. Weavile remembered them. They were a cold blue, but seemed to shift hues to a bruise-like purple in specific lighting. It took every ounce of willpower she had stored up to keep from making a scene. That wasn't the same Bisharp. He looked exactly like the Mad Jack, sounded exactly like him, but his face… it looked _off_. The smile he wore was genuine and trustworthy. He didn't look like a trained killer, he looked like an uncle. Behind her Weavile felt Murkrow cower and quiver, and she didn't blame him. This wasn't _scary_ , per say, but it was unnatural.

"I'd say you're smarter than I'd give you credit for, but I think we both know you didn't think that up yourself," Bisharp guessed. His warm eyes shifted to the bird. "Weavile's lucky to have you, you know. She's inept. If she wants to pursue this whole 'coup' thing, she'd need a wise advisor like yourself."

"T-th-th-th… Thank y-you," Murkrow stammered.

"But," Bisharp continued, "you need to make her be smarter with the information you've given her. If I was anyone else, I'd be afraid of someone who knows too much. And do you know what happens to those who know too much?" Still he was unnatural, too genuine and too polite. Like he had their best interests at heart.

Murkrow nodded. Indeed, he knew.

Weavile resummoned her will and stamped her foot on the ground in a single aggressive step forward. "Quit with all this smalltalk! I asked a damn question!" Her voice remained still. That was good.

Off to the side Marowak began to snicker, but a brief flick of Bisharp's gaze stopped him. "I'll tell you, but only because I know you'd blame this attack on Persian regardless," he said. "It's because Guildmaster Gallade is up to something. He's toying with the fate of the world for no other reason than being too good-hearted. If he isn't stopped, everyone is at risk. _Everyone._ "

"Fate of the world?" Weavile repeated skeptically. "The hell are you talking about?"

"It's complicated," Bisharp shrugged. "I don't think we have time to go over it. Even if we did, it would cloud your mind. And I can't have that."

"You can't _do_ that," she hissed. "You can't just say that someone is threatening to destroy _everyone_ and then _not explain!_ "

"Really? Because, that's exactly what I'm gonna do," Bisharp leered. And there it was: that glint in his eyes, and the twitch of the smile. That devilish grin. The Mad Jack was still there. He was still there, but only for a moment, and Bisharp was back to his overly-friendly persona. "I think Joker might know something about it. Go ahead and ask him."

"What? What does he have to do with this?" Weavile demanded to know.

The Steel-type mulled his response over for a moment, frowning. "Nothing." And then, grinning, he added, "Everything."

"You little…" The Ice-type's anger subsided. It did her no good to play Bisharp's games. His lips were sealed, and letting him watch her squirm under his thumb would only waste her time. Besides, she got _some_ kind of answer, and she received a clear message: none of this would matter to her. The fate of the world would be taken care of, probably. Weavile clicked her tongue. "I'll see you in forty, then. C'mon Murkrow." With that, she whirled around towards the doorway.

"F-fine by me," Murkrow agreed almost too eagerly, and together, the two left the inn.

There was a quiet interlude left behind them. Dragonite drifted back into slumber, and Alakazam returned to his novels. Pages soundlessly flipped as he did so. Only Marowak spoke, in a murmur that was clear in the room's silence. "The don's decision to decree her the director of the draftees will always dumbfound me," he said.

Again Bisharp mulled it over, but this time he was actually thinking. "I… I don't know about that. At the very least, she isn't terrible with the kids," he said.

"Babysitting's a breeze," Marowak scoffed.

"Even so, I could see her being somewhere in my hierarchy. Upper-middle level. Hell, maybe she could replace Mandibuzz if she wasn't so hard-headed…" Seemingly in the middle of planning, Bisharp abruptly stopped, shook his head, and waved his hand as if to dismiss the thought-cloud. "I really need to stop trying to think about Mr. Kitty now, and so do you," he said. A hint of a grin formed on Bisharp's face, genuine and haunting. "From tonight onward we don't follow his orders."

…

Joker sat in the hollow eye of the Groudon skull, dangling his paws over the edge. He had a reflective look in his eyes as he stared at nothing in particular. Weavile and Murkrow were surprised to see him there when they arrived.

"You're early for once," Weavile called up to him from the base of the skull.

Joker looked down at her, then up at the night sky. Most Pokémon could judge the time to some extent based on the position of the sun or the stars. Joker was never one of those Pokémon, which explained why he was almost always late to appointments, but he pretended to have some idea of the time, anyway. He smiled as he looked back at the Ice-type. His smile wasn't too different from his usual expression, but Weavile could sense some weariness from within it. "I wanted to spend some time alone, to think of new circus tricks. What do you think of a Grass-type fire-eater?"

"How would it work?" Weavile asked, then quickly shook her head, "Actually, nevermind. Is something wrong?"

"What?" Joker looked at her, a bit surprised.

"Joker, I've known you for a long time. Even from here, I can tell that something's bothering you," Weavile stated, putting a claw on her hip.

Joker paused. A moment of silence passed, then shook his head and slapped his cheeks with his paws. "Nothing's wrong! Just thinking a bit too hard about things," he replied as he jumped down to meet the two on the ground beside the large skull. "When're the soldiers coming?"

"I told them to meet us and Bisharp here fifteen before midnight. If they know what's good for them, they'll come a little earlier," Weavile answered.

"Are we really willing to send these young Pokémon off to their deaths?" Murkrow asked, almost pleadingly. He had been opposed to the whole plan from the beginning, but didn't dare speak out against the Mad Jack.

"They agreed to come on their own." Weavile rolled her eyes, tired of having this conversation.

"Only because you'd kill them, yourself, if they refused," Murkrow replied.

"Please. Even the youngest of children know not to refuse a job from Bisharp. I didn't even have to threaten them," Weavile retorted.

A lapse of silence passed between the three. Weavile noticed once again that Joker was acting different. He was quieter than usual. Murkrow noticed this, too. The two of them waited, as if testing to see if they were only imagining it, but Joker said nothing. He seemed to be staring at the ground in front of him, deep in thought. He then looked up at Weavile suddenly, and opened his mouth to speak, but was cut off by Weavile's name being called.

"Weavile!" The three Pokémon turned to see a small group of Pokémon approaching. The group consisted of roughly twenty-five Pokémon of varying size and type. It was formed from alumni of Weavile's orphanage (although they were mostly there before Weavile was given the position of Matron), who were never picked up by the other divisions. After being deemed unpromising, these individuals left once they came of age and skulked off to take out their frustrations on whomever they may please. Most of these outcasts became criminals, and several were locked away by Guilds, but some were more tactful on their journey.

These wily few stayed hidden from the Guilds' eyes, but still continued their no-good ways. They often returned to the orphanage in the hopes of redeeming themselves and finally joining the syndicate as a professional criminal. Some were successful in being recruited into the unloving family they perceived the organization to be, but the ones standing in front of Weavile now were the ones who had been shunned numerous times.

The Pokémon gathering around the great Groudon's skull were very different from one another, but they all shared one thing in common: a feeling of inadequacy. They had all been raised with the orphanage as their only family. The closest to a mother they've had was the previous Matron. Other Pokémon came and went, getting adopted and starting new, better lives, but they were never chosen. Then, when they reached a certain age, they were let in on the true purpose of the orphanage. They were trained in all sorts of skills, from combat to stealth to deception.

The older orphans who were tasked with training them said when they were good enough, they'd be taken in by other divisions and they'd be able to climb up the ranks and become a powerful criminal. Everyone looked up to the other divisions with amazement and admiration. They talked with one another about which one they wanted to go to, like students discussing their preferred college. But when the time came for the division leaders to assess the trained rookies, the Pokémon who stood now in front of the Ice-Type never experienced the visitors' eyes focusing on them.

For some, spite grew in their hearts. They strove to better themselves in order to prove they should have been chosen. For others, abandonment took hold of their souls. They struggled desperately to hone their skills in an attempt to catch the syndicate's eye once again. But whatever they felt, the Pokémon that stood now all shared the same desire: to finally be accepted.

The group of misfits was led by a young Raichu, the one who had called Weavile's name. "We're all ready to fight," she reported.

"Ah, perfect," Murkrow responded, and the three syndicate Pokémon turned their attention to the horde. "Bisharp should be here soon, so sit tight and steel yourselves."

"I'm not gonna lie to you all," Weavile addressed the crowd. "Many of you won't be walking out of this alive. Bisharp intends to use you all as meat shields. He fully expects your bodies to clutter the battlefield." Murkrow looked away somberly. "But I know you all are willing to die for your family, even though you were never accepted into it. So consider this your final exam. Those who are successful in this mission will be granted the opportunity to join the division of their choice. This is a fast-pass to victory after a hard and grueling journey."

Faces brightened in the small crowd as hope glimmered in their eyes. The soldiers thought not of what was to take place that night, but of what would await them tomorrow, should they remain alive.

"Well said." All at once, Bisharp was suddenly there, leaning against the side of the great skull. It wasn't that he _appeared_ , popping into existence, but… One moment he was nowhere to be seen, and the next he had always been there, arms folded across his chest. "You chose well. I'd expected a bunch of thugs and nobodies. Just nobodies? It's wise, even if you don't know it."

Weavile rolled her eyes. Internally, having Bisharp suddenly come into being was startling, but she didn't let any of that show. It wasn't just about not letting Bisharp get under her skin. Under the watch of some twenty-five Pokemon she roped into this, her face showed nothing but annoyance. "I thought you said you'd be watching me," she said, exasperated.

Bisharp groaned, also exasperated, and threw up his palms. "Come _on_ , ice queen. Learn to take a damn compliment," he exclaimed. Weavile sighed. That time, her annoyance was genuine.

Having gotten no reaction, Bisharp cleared his throat, narrowed his eyes, and began to study the small militia he had gathered before him. In each of them he could see steeled resolve. Some were passionate about this assault, and likely didn't have to be persuaded. Most had just accepted that they had no other option. That, Bisharp thought, was probably for the best.

"She wasn't lying," he said. The humor was gone from his face, and all that remained was cold and cunning. Behind him, a half-devoured moon bathed him in its pale red light. In a matter of minutes the eclipse would be complete. "Looking at you now, I'd guess that seven or eight of you will make it out of this alive. The rest of you will probably die, or be captured. What we attempt tonight will be a full-on battle, a twenty minute war."

He paused, letting the words hang in the air. The small militia looked amongst one another for conformation and support. Yes, they knew this already, but having it blatantly stated came as another final test. "The plan, for you anyways, is simple," claimed Bisharp. "All of you are to lurk in the shadows at the base of the hill. I want a fourth of you hanging around trying to be hidden. The rest of you, stay somewhere close in town, a mere minute's sprint away. I'll lead with my buddies."

His gaze flicked to the very back of the group, where the four hung some fifty yards back from the crowd. Alakazam, with no books in sight, with Dragonite on his right, and Marowak on the far left. Between him and the wise Alakazam, there stood Nidoking, bound in thick chains from his neck to his ankles. The wild beast must have carried its bodyweight in metal, with too many locks to be counted. For the moment it seemed complacent. The ravenous, lustful hunger that it had shown in the desert was gone, now replaced by a hypnotic daze, gazing upon the Mad Jack with its mouth hung open and a thin strand of drool hanging down from its large, dagger-like fangs. Soon, the wild beast would awaken.

Bisharp's admiration for the wild form was not shared by his unwilling compatriots. There was a twinge of fear in all of them. Rumors of such a monster had circulated, but to have them confirmed… Beaming, Bisharp continued. "With them, I think we can handle their gatekeepers, but still do be careful of them. Dusknoir and Blaziken are not to be trifled with. Even with us at their throats, I'd bet my life that they'd stop two or three of you. For the most of you that do, once you get inside that cabin, there's a trap door in the back right corner. Go down there to get to the guild. Then, get into the dorms and cause as much chaos as possible. Hold them off. Most of the Explorers are out right now, so there should only be around forty or so. You can do it. Probably. Down there, the two other threats, Rhyperior and Gallade, should be waiting. Again, I'll handle them with the help of Nidoking. Is anything unclear, or are we all set to go?"

A murmur swam through the gathered Pokemon, quiet but curious, fearful but fascinated. Questions on the tips of their tongues, most of which they shared with Weavile: _why?_ It never escaped their lips. Asking, they knew, would only waste their breath, but that didn't stop them from theorizing. There were other questions, too, but for the moment only one came out.

A Medicham half-raised her hand up so it was just above her head. Bisharp's icy blue eyes turned to look at her. "Yeah, uhm, what will happen if some of us get discovered before the attack?" she asked.

"Not my problem." There was no hesitation in that remark. No one had any time to consider the question themselves before he swiftly scratched that off the list. "I'm not bailing you out if you can't stay hidden for more than ten minutes. Kill them. Run. Bluff. Whatever you do, it's none of my concern. You're on your own."

"G… Got it." She lowered her hand, looked from side to side, and then proceeded to try her best to blend back into the crowd.

Bisharp raised his hands out impatiently. "Anything else?"

"I got one," shouted a Frogadier, one of the few who had some fire in him that dreadful night. He was here on a mission. Bisharp actually knew this one, for he was one of the select thugs with a name. Flynn the Frogadier, a roguish hero and a Robin Hood-esque figure for the poor, glared up at the Mad Jack with unwavering resolve. "Do you know how badly you've messed up?"

Playfully, the Steel-type cocked his head to the side. A thin smile emerged, disconnected from the hollow, dilated eyes that stared daggers back at him. The world was absolutely still. For an instant the murmurs came about again, but they lasted only a moment before a cold wind swept over them, carrying Bisharp's dry, ghastly _Oh?_ Raichu clenched a fist. "What is he _doing?_ " she whispered.

Flynn smirked, and began walking forward. The crowd moved for him. Behind him, the Frogadier was accompanied by a Houndoom and a Gurdurr, sharing the light of the torch that Flynn carried with him. "You've gathered all of us here by threat of death, using Persian's name, and thought we'd be too afraid to think about why. All you see us as are obedient pawns kept in line by fear." He breached the front of the small crowd and stood in up front amongst Weavile and Joker. "It just takes a minute of thought. We're supposed to believe that Persian would want to destroy the Guild? All that could possibly do is disrupt his syndicate."

An Arbok raised her head up above the others. "He's… He's right," she agreed, joining the face on her hood in glaring at the Steel-type.

"Persian would never…!" In the back, a Kingler snapped his claw shut and ground it together in a fit of anger.

As the murmur grew into a buzz, Flynn continued on, his smirk even broader. "And _furthermore_ -" The Frogadier pointed his finger straight between the Mad Jack's eyes with vigor and fire as if it were the barrel of a rifle, "-you've made a grave mistake tonight. What's keeping us from killing you, here and now?!"

Bisharp's head tilted further, his thin smile stretched wider, his icy eyes glaring deeper. "What…?" he whispered, dry like the wind of a desert night. "I don't know… what _is_ keeping you?"

"Pathetic," spat Flynn. "Is that all you can do? Keep trying to strike fear?!"

"Yeah," agreed a Glalie, shivering as he floated above the ground. "Yeah! Why hasn't he struck him down yet?!"

The Gurdurr slammed down his iron pillar on the path with a heavy thud. "Because it's nothing but a rumor," he growled. "Lies told to keep us in check. He's not some living legend! Not even _he_ could hold off all of us!"

Weavile anxiously raised both hands towards the Water-type. "Stop, you don't know-" She stopped abruptly when Bisharp's cold hand rested on her back and shirked away from him. The look in his eyes stole the words from her tongue.

Flynn veiled his left hand in a vortex of water that endlessly and viciously swirled from the tips of his fingers and disappeared into mist once it rushed past his wrist. Waterfall, one of the Frogadier's favorite moves in his arsenal, and perhaps the rogue's signature weapon. With its appearance came an eerie, oppressive silence that sucked the breath from everyone's lungs. Some were mortified. Others were bracing themselves to join in however they could. And then, Frogadier vanished into wisps of smoke, and cries began to rise from the group. Whether of frenzy or terror, no one could quite tell.

Time lurched forward. In the blink of an eye, Flynn had been plucked like a weed with Bisharp's hand firmly around the Water-type's skull. Beneath his foot he had pinned the Gurdurr, grinding his heel into the nape of his neck. The houndoom stood frozen, mouth hung ajar, as Bisharp contorted himself to have one finger on his left hand press against her chin.

The Mad Jack's raspy snickering brought with it a dry wind to the hills of Treasure Town. Above him the pale red moon bathed him in its ominous light. "It wasn't a bad idea," Bisharp admitted. "Surprise me with a Shadow Sneak and hit me off balance, burn me with Houndoom until it hurts to move, and then have Gurdurr bash me over the head… It might've worked, if I didn't so happen to be that boogeyman you just said couldn't exist."

"Im… poss…" gasped the Frogadier. "You can't be…!"

Bisharp sneered. "I can, and I am." He whirled around gracefully. In one fluid motion both Gurdurr and Houndoom were sent flying back into the crowd, amongst anguished and shocked cries, and then the Steel-type stood tall with the Frogadier raised above his head, shown off like the spoils of war. The frog's hands grasped at Bisharp's wrist with all the strength he had, but it showed no sign of progress. "Tell me, young Flynn, what did you think this would accomplish? Why strike me down?"

"Be… cause…" He took a deep breath and gathered his nerve. "Because you're nothing but a monster. You're a stain that's gotta be erased. I can't just let you threaten everything I hold dear!"

Again he snickered. "My, you sound just like an Explorer. All young heroes are the same, aren't they?" That thin smile of his softened into something harsh but admiring. "I'll admit though, you've got guts. By now they usually realize how futile it is and beg for mercy."

"They need… to know… that we don't have to be afraid of you," Flynn said through tight lips.

"Oh, honey…" Bisharp tilted his head to the side and stared deeply into Flynn's eyes. They quivered, but met his own undaunted. "You really should be-"

A glob of spit met Bisharp's face. It landed right between his eyes, where it splashed out and slowly seeped down. For a moment he was absolutely still, making no noise but a long, sharp inhale through his nose. Slowly his gaze drifted from the rogue to the back of the group, where Bisharp's security stood waiting patiently and quietly. "Hey, _Niiiiidokiiiiiing!_ I got a treat for you!"

"W-wait, what?" The Frogadier turned his head as much as he could in the Steel-type's unrelenting grip, and out of the corner of his eyes he could just see the monstrous Nidoking snap out of its daze. Its head shook, drizzling slobber everywhere, and then let out a long, famished groan. The countless chains that bound it rattled in a dischordious choir of clinks and clicks as the monster pushed with all its strength. "N… No…!" Flynn unwillingly gasped and began to thrash in his grasp. "You can't!"

"Oho? Where's all that bravado?" mocked Bisharp. He began marching forward through the grass and across the path, waving Flynn high and far in front of him. The Nidoking's great jaws opened wide and snapped back shut, as if it could close the distance and snatch the Frogadier out of his hands.

Flynn began to buck and kick at the Steel-type's chest, but in his carelessness he had kicked one of the blades that encircled his stomach, leaving a clean cut from his heel to his ankle. "S-stop, no! Not that!" Behind those gnashing fangs was a gateway to nothingness, to a certain and undignified death. There would be no honor in that. He had braced himself to die at the hands of the Mad Jack, but this?

"What kind of hero pleads with their boogeyman?!" Bisharp shouted, his smile humorless. When he reached the crowd they parted before him. Arbok retreated into her coil. Glalie had all but dropped to the ground. Medicham averted her eyes. Houndoom growled fiercely, and Gurdurr gripped the iron pole tight against his body, but neither made a move. "Come on, you're in front of an audience! How can you mess up your role _this_ badly!"

Flynn reached up to the hand that held his head so firmly and began to pry at his fingers, but the slender pieces of steel were sharp and strong. His head felt damp from his own blood. "L-let go! Anything but that! Anything but that!" he cried. Marowak chuckled dryly.

Bisharp grimaced, planting one foot into the ground. "You lost the right to complain the _moment_ you tried to overthrow me. Now just shut up already!" His arm whirled around, gathering momentum, before hurling the Frogadier over the rest of the crowd. He crashed into the rattling chains of the Nidoking with an audible cry. The monster, excited, tried to reach out and grab his meal, but his restrains didn't allow that, and the wild beast lost his balance and fell over. With one _splat_ , Flynn fell silent, and would never speak again.

"Dear Arceus… Wannabe martyrs are _so_ annoying." Bisharp shook his head, and then his hand to get most of that frog's blood off of him. All of the fun and friendliness had left. He turned his cold gaze back to the crowd. " _Any other questions?_ " he snarled.

No one answered, save for a cold wind that blew across the grassy hills.

He exhaled, in relief but also in annoyance. "Good. Now let's fucking go."

…

Lunar gazing had always been one of Dusknoir's hobbies. Since much of his job had him standing under a blanket of stars, it was almost a requirement. Being the gatekeeper for the night was uneventful. Maybe twice a week he would actually have to shoo someone away. The last time he was in an actual scuffle was at least three months back. It was just him and the stars and the moon.

That is, if it were any other night. As it was then, he had a companion that wasn't hundreds of thousands of miles away. There on the porch sat Blaziken in her rocking chair with her eyes half-open. A mug of lukewarm coffee was held tightly in her hands as she worked on bringing it back to a boil with the cuff of flames around her wrists. The sky mattered not to her. Was it pretty? Kinda, yeah, but not pretty enough for her to stay awake for it. All she cared for was the cup in her hand, steam slowly beginning to rise from the dark, unsullied coffee, as she rocked herself back and forth by the tip of her talons. The rich aroma was both soothing and strong, holding her firm in the waking world.

"Any minute now," Dusknoir sighed. The moon was just a faded red sliver in a dark sky, surrounded by a thousand cold, loveless stars. "Do you remember the last time there was a lunar eclipse?"

"Nnnnope," answered Blaziken.

"Four years ago, in the fall, supposedly. It had been so cold that even I could feel it. Everything was blanketed in clouds, and I remember praying for them to part for just five minutes. No dice." He chuckled to himself. "It's so peaceful around here that you can forget all about storms."

"Yyyyyup," agreed Blaziken.

The Ghost-type drummed his fingers on the back of his other hand, which quickly turned into firmly folding them together. They trembled slightly. He could just hear it behind him: footsteps, for death was strolling up the path to the top of the hill. All that was left of the moon was a single strand of red. "Leora?" he whispered.

Blaziken raised a brow. "You never use my name," she observed, and took a sip from her mug. Almost hot enough to burn.

"I… I just want you to know, there's nobody I'd rather die with," he proclaimed. The glowing red eye floating in the hollow of his head drifted over towards the Fire-type. In turn, she opened her own eyes fully, blinking the sleep out of them. "You're a dear friend. I couldn't ask for anyone better."

"Don't mention it," she dismissed.

"If I don't do it now, when will I?" he posed. Blaziken shrugged, and took another slow drag from her coffee. That was a fair point.

Death emerged at the end of the path and came to a stop some thirty yards away from the porch. A tall, gaunt Bisharp with splotches of rust on his face stood with his arms folded behind his back in the last beam of pale red light. Slowly he removed one arm and waved provocatively. From behind him a Marowak wandered in, dragging a curved, slender bone, and halted just behind the Steel-type with a hateful, eager glare through his skull mask. And just after drifted in a Dragonite hovering just above the ground, sharing a similarly hateful, differently cautious glare with the Marowak.

"Well I'll be…" Blaziken trailed off as a grim smirk grew on her face. "The sonofabitch showed up."

Bisharp mimicked her smirk. "You stayed up just to greet me. Now I may be a sonofabitch, but a fellow that stands a lady up is just a general piece of shit," he said with a hint of sarcasm.

"Why couldn't Gallade be wrong, just this once…?" muttered Dusknoir.

Bisharp rolled his eyes and dramatically folded his arms across his chest. "Of _course_ he knew," he pouted. "'Ooh, look at me. I'm Gallie and I know everything because I'm perfect and everyone loves me. I can't be wrong.' Piss off."

"It isn't important if they were informed," proclaimed Marowak. "Our internecine invasion is not interrupted." He raised the bone up and pointed it through the cabin's doorway, hungry for blood.

"I hate him already," Blaziken murmured, making no effort to stay quiet as she shot daggers at the Marowak.

"I have to admit that I agree." A green hand grasped the door frame and pulled the rest of the Guildmaster into view, lit by nothing but a dancing flame trapped in a lantern. A dark silhouette against a dim glow, staring with a singular luminescent eye, thoroughly sized up the assassins that had come for him. From the Bisharp, to the Marowak, to the Dragonite, and didn't seem to stop for some time.

Bisharp's pout subsided in favor of that grim smirk again. "Well, fancy that. Not only do I get the privilege of _two_ doorkeepers, but I even get the Guildmaster here, just for me!" he cackled and clapped his hands together. "You have _no_ idea how much this means to me. Seriously, I'm like- _obsessed_ with you-"

"Shut up," Gallade barked. He was patient, taking naught but one step out of the doorway. A bland breeze with no temperature and no scent blew out from him, stirring the blades of grass and rolling over the Pokemon around him. They could hardly even feel it, but it was there. And Gallade's presence alone was enough for them to know that nothing is merely just 'there.'

The Steel-type slapped his cheeks with his palms as his mouth formed into a cartoonish O. "You _wound_ me! Good sir, that is not how one should greet-"

"Thirty-two," Gallade blurted. "Three in front of us. Two others lurking in the distance waiting to Teleport. Twenty-seven others lurking within a quarter-mile. Less than half of them are fully evolved. Most of them aim to slip past us. That'd be my guess."

Dragonite's cautious gaze flicked to the Guildmaster in reluctant admiration. Marowak snickered in anticipation. Bisharp, in a fit of rage, screamed and stamped his foot on the dirt. Clots were chipped out of the hill and sprayed out everywhere. "You're ruining my fun, _asshole!_ I came all this way just to see an old companion, and you just act like your normal Guildmaster self?!"

The faintly luminescent eye fell upon the Steel-type like a spotlight. Gallade raised his chin and proclaimed to all that would hear, "I do not know you, wretch. Claiming I do is an insult to everyone I hold dear." In the sky, the last of the moon vanished into the void of space, leaving only faint starlight to illuminate the silhouettes. Blaziken, her mug mostly empty, tossed it aside and smashed it against the porch. Bisharp, defeated, sighed one final dramatic sigh, and just looked back at the Guildmaster's icy indifference. He really _was_ just being the normal Guildmaster.

"Very well." All the drama and passion was gone from Bisharp's voice. "Business it is, and it's real mean business. Get out of my way before I cut you down."

"I'm already right here," Gallade said. "Face me alone. That would save a lot of time and a lot of lives."

"You really think a 'wretch' would agree to that? Because I'll have you know, I'm here for two things: blood and loot. Why do you think that I'd-"

"Because I have the loot," Gallade interrupted, and slipped a hand into the bag on his hip. When it came back out again it held a peculiar twist of fabric. Otherworldly red and otherworldly green were woven and tied together into a circular shape big enough to fit over one's head. After showing this off in the darkness of the eclipse, he let it fall to his wrist, looped it twice so it fit tight, and then slid it all the way back up to his shoulder. "And now you _have_ to cut me down to get it."

Dragonite chuckled to himself with a hint of underlying anxiety. "Can't get anything past him," he murmured.

Bisharp wore an expression somewhere between a grin and a grimace. Surprise and pleasure and relief and anger and annoyance, an unnatural agglomeration all birthed into being at once on one face. His head shook in irritation, and he stepped forward. "Ain't that the truth…? Alright, fine. Where do you want to do this?"

"Elsewhere," Gallade answered, and extended a hand towards him.

"... Clever little prick," Bisharp muttered. "Oi, Alakazam, you can go ahead and show up now." As per request, Alakazam emerged in the soft glow of a Teleport, a dozen yards to the left of Dragonite. With him he brought the Nidoking, bound from head to toe in chains. Almost immediately the monster's hollow eyes set upon the Blaziken, and a low growl rumbled out of its meaty throat. "Looks like I'm leaving this all to you three. Think you can handle it?"

"Certainly," answered Marowak, grinning beneath his mask. "I shall sing a song of scarlet stains."

"Yeah," Dragonite nodded.

"More than likely," Alakazam estimated.

"Rrrrrrrrrrrr…!" wheezed Nidoking. The restraints around its throat choked out whatever roars it tried to make as it gnashed its fangs.

"Then I leave it to you." Without another word, Bisharp took Gallade's hand, and held it caringly.

Gallade took a deep breath. "I won't ask the same of you," he said to his companions, but did not look at them. The two stood ready in the starlight. "Whether or not you think you can, you must do everything in your power. The world depends on you."

"I wouldn't dream of doing anything else!" Dusknoir exclaimed with zeal.

"Yessir," Blaziken agreed.

And then the two swordsmon vanished.

…

In a blur of dark landscapes lit by no moon, they warped past the grassy hills of Treasure Town, past the Sawtooth mountains, past thick forests and deep lakes, past the endless deserts, over the churning oceans, for well over a minute, until it suddenly stopped just as it had suddenly started: in a moment of tense silence. Bisharp looked around, and almost instantly he knew where he was. A grassy plain on a floating chunk of earth some hundred yards long. Above them, below them, all around them, more of these great hunks of dirt drifted about without a care in the world. And far below was nothing but ocean for as far as the eyes could see. Yes, he knew this place alright.

Bisharp grinned. "Heaven's Isles. I don't think I could've picked a better arena myself. I'm just glad you didn't choose to drop me into a volcano."

"There weren't any close by." It may have been a joke, but he didn't make it sound like one. "And here, we can't be interrupted. I don't have to worry about collateral damage."

"Tch. You're serious about this. Do you plan on bringing out the mega stone?" he asked. Gallade didn't respond verbally. He swung his left arm downward at an angle, aiming it at the dirt, sheathing it in a shimmering blue Psycho Cut. Now it was just long enough to scrape against the grass. "Oh… Oh! You don't have it!" Bisharp exclaimed. "Where could it be, I wonder? Just what did you do with it?"

"Come on already," demanded Gallade. Gradually, methodically, he walked to his right, with his Psycho Cut behind him leaving a groove in the dirt. "If you didn't come here to talk, then let's get this started."

"Sounds good." Bisharp went on to his own right, dragging a sharp toe to leave a deep trail. The two were circling each other, never breaking eye contact, as they formed their arena. Step by step, their paths formed a neat curved line that would be the boundary. Until the duel was resolved, neither participant would be allowed to leave. Fighting must remain in the boundaries. It was a conflict solely for them, fought in boundaries made solely by them, and was essentially a quarantine for their animosity until it bled out of their system.

"Just like old times," Bisharp sighed wistfully.

"Stop pretending," Gallade warned.

"Oh, right. Let's have a good duel, ' _stranger'_ ," he mocked, contorting his face into some caricature of his vile self. "Is that what you're gonna pass this off as?"

"I think I've made myself clear, but in case I haven't, let me spell it out for you," the Guildmaster growled, baring his teeth. "You are no brother of mine."

An instant later their arena was closed, sealing the two in a duel. Theirs would not remain incomplete.


	27. Chapter 27: The End of an Era

**Chapter 26**

Their leaders had left in a soft glow, and the doorkeepers were alone with the soon-to-be assailants. No longer was the talkative Bisharp hogging the spotlight and holding up the action. Two against four. Blaziken and Dusknoir, defending against Marowak, Dragonite and Alakazam. And the Nidoking? It was there for carnage. The only priority it held was a rematch.

Marowak pointed the head of the bone directly at the Blaziken. "I claim her as my kill," he claimed, glaring through his skull mask. "Don't cut in on my clash. I am compelled to corner her."

Blaziken put one claw on her hip and leaned to the side. "Sorry. I'm not the kind of girl to let herself get tied down," said she in her usual monotone.

"Don't deny me this duel," he hissed. "I'll be damned before-"

The chains pulled taut as the Nidoking attempted to lift its arms, only to be held down by layers upon layers of steel. It grunted, slacked for a moment, and then pulled again. The steel stretched a bit. A few fingers squirmed free.

"I think he wants in on the action," Dragonite said, drifting a little bit away from the beastly Poison-type.

"He just wants payback," explained Alakazam, eyeing up Blaziken with pity. "If you want her to yourself, you'd have to convince him. And good luck."

Fingers clenched around the chains and clamped down on one of the links. It bent, then snapped, pulling free from the rest of a strand and falling into the grass, pulling the rest of a length of chain free. It ended with a great, heavy lock falling onto dirt with an audible _thud_. With a little more room, Nidoking pushed against his restraints again. With the gap it had made, it could just fit its wrist through, and with a loud, choked roar, its arm ripped through several more chain links. In one fell motion, a little under half of the steel that bound it had fallen around its feet.

"Oh dear," murmured Alakazam, floating quickly away from the creature.

Subtly, Blaziken leaned over to her companion. "That thing's gonna be a problem," she whispered. "I fought it out in the desert. I beat it, but it was worn out, and still almost got me. You think you could do anything about it?"

"Hmm…" Dusknoir rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "I could neutralize its damage, but I fear it might outpace me… Still, I probably should be dealing with it."

"Be careful. It has some of the highest destructive capabilities I've seen. If we can't hold it back, never mind the Guild- all of Treasure Town is done for," she warned. "And don't forget about the others lurking. We have to hold off as many as we can. We don't know what could be amongst them."

"So it's us against a dragon, a swordsmon, a Psychic, a wild beast king, and a small army," grimly summarized Dusknoir.

"Yyyyup." The Fire-type raised one leg like a crane. "I swear, it's just like him. Every single day it's just mundane, until suddenly we have to rub the sleep out of our eyes and save the world."

"Isn't that the truth?" Dusknoir clenched a fist and punched it into his other palm. And when he did so, Dusknoir's dim red eye shone through like a will-o-wisp. A circle of pale lavender shook and enlarged with the Ghost-type at its center, rushing past Blaziken, past the cabin, past the attackers, until it surrounded the hill, and then faded away. Mean Look. "Now! Hurry up then! You lot have been the most passive bunch of assassins I've yet seen!"

"Gladly!" Marowak gripped the bone in both hands and bolted forward, followed closely by Dragonite after a flap of his wings. From Dragonite's open maw came a cold blue glint an instant before an Ice Beam shot out and swept towards them. Dusknoir raised a hand in front of him to block it, letting the crystals grow over his palm and thumb. Blaziken ducked underneath it. Behind them the wall and the windows were streaked with ice. Provoked, the Fire-type sprinted forward to meet the Marowak. He swung the curved club. She caught it with one hand and drove her knee into his gut, lifting him off the ground. For a moment he was dazed, but gathered himself in an instant and bashed his skull mask into her forehead. She staggered back before throwing the bone, and consequently him, away.

A blood-curdling howl reverberated throughout the hills of Treasure Town as, all at once, the chains binding the Nidoking snapped, and a hail of steel fragments rained into the dirt. The stars above dimmed with its cry. In a celebration of its freedom it pounded the ground with its fists, sending a small quake through the hillside. Normally it would want its warden smashed to a pulp, want that mustache ripped from his face, but it remembered that Blaziken. It remembered, and it vehemently wanted her eviscerated. Snarling, the monstrous Poison-type barreled forward.

A boisterous crash countered the hall as the front wall exploded out in a mess of splinters and glass shards. With tears in his eyes Rhyperior had punched through the cabin he had called home for so many years. It would've been destroyed one way or another, he knew that, but even then was still coming to terms with it. But he didn't have time for that. He only had a second of surprise, and he'd be damned if he didn't take advantage of it. Rhyperior stamped his foot through the porch, braced his left arm, and aimed it at the assailants. Amongst the shards of wood, no one noticed he was holding a boulder, until with a deafening roar it blasted out like a cannon, soaring past Marowak, past Dragonite, past Nidoking, and into the chest of Alakazam, just too slow to Teleport out of there. Sheer force knocked the Psychic-type out of his meditative levitation and into the dirt.

"Nicely done!" Dusknoir laughed. He formed a fist, shattering the ice that tried to take root.

"And there's more where that came from!" Rhyperior cried. A boulder in his right hand was transferred over to his left. "On my life, I swear that each and every last one of you will be buried before sunrise!"

He might have planned to say more, but the Nidoking cared not for his speech, and Blaziken had to lurch to intercept it. Her leg kicked at his elbow, just barely managing to deflect a blow as that arm dove down just to her right. The ground quivered. Blaziken jabbed it twice in the chest, knocking it off balance, before crouching down and sweeping at the Nidoking's stout legs. With some effort, the monster lost its footing, and landed face-first in the grass.

Then came the first of the lurkers, an Electrode speeding up the hill with a faint whir announcing its arrival. Rhyperior stamped his foot, unearthing a slab of stone from beneath the dirt, which the Electrode smacked into with a dull _thump_. Following just behind it, a Weavile deftly leaped over the slab and bolted for the cabin. Dusknoir drifted over towards her, right hand coated in a sickly purple substance, until a Fire Blast from the Dragonite's gaping maw burst apart between them, forcing the Ghost-type to halt. Blaziken made a similar charge for her, but a jumping strike from Marowak forced the Fire-type to stop and guard. A second later, an Arbok slithered up. An irritated Rhyperior raised a hand, ready to drop an Earthquake on them, but stopped abruptly when a hundred berry-sized orbs glowing a bright purple, swarmed for an instant. _Psyshock_ , Rhyperior cursed, and covered his face in his thick arms as they burst apart on his stony skin. The Arbok made it past.

Alakazam hissed air out of his nostrils as he regained himself, legs folded in wonky levitation. "You absolute brute…! So help me, I'll grind you into sand by the end of this!"

"We've lost," Dusknoir murmured. "If we keep staying on the defensive, we've lost. We have to be more aggressive."

"But, the kids-" Rhyperior began to plead, but was quickly cut off by Blaziken.

"It's sad, but there isn't much we can do without chasing after them exclusively." Contradicting herself, Blaziken kicked Marowak off her only to leap to the other end of the hill towards a Gourgeist. With one swift Blaze Kick she punted the Grass-type off the hill and down the side of the cliff. "Stop what we can, but the Explorers can _fight_ them. These four are top priority."

The Nidoking was unhappy with all this, for in its humble opinion, things were still too intact. It growled through its fangs and pried up a chunk of dirt from the ground nearly four feet in diameter, raising it above its head before hurling it at Dusknoir. He raised both arms in front of him as the great boulder of earth broke apart around him. Dragonite tried to hit the clods of dirt with an Ice Beam, effectively trapping the troublesome Ghost-type, but the moment it started to form, he punched through it and drifted out as fast as he could.

"Rrgh…!" growled Rhyperior. Up the path he could see a painted Floatzel darting up in an Aqua Jet, followed closely by a Murkrow struggling to match his pace. Rhyperior had a Rock Wrecker at the ready. It would've been so easy to take them out, there and now… One shot, and they'd be nothing but stains… With tears in his eyes, Rhyperior braced his left arm, took aim, and fired. _Clunk, boom_. The boulder soared and spiraled the short distance, hitting the Nidoking directly in the face. With a cartoonish, garbled _oof_ , the boulder lodged itself in the monster's jaws and knocked it over. The weasel and the crow ran past him, and he did nothing to stop them. "I'm… You're right," he admitted. "We must save what we can."

Nidoking's jaws snapped shut and the boulder shattered into gravel, just as easily as it could've shattered a jawbreaker. For a moment, it seemed to snicker, then to cry, then to howl as it thrashed there on the ground, pounding the earth with its fists. With each one the hill quivered more and more. When it stood up, its tail was writhing eerily, spasming and thumping against the dirt. It took a deep breath, sucking in the sound, before unleashing it all in a spine-tingling, ear-shattering explosion of sound. That was a reminder. _It_ was the apex predator, and these were its hunting grounds.

…

Weavile burst into the cabin, quickly locating the trap door and throwing it open before dropping down into the Guild hall, followed by a few other soldiers that had slipped past. As they fanned out to scour the halls, she waited in the main lobby for her two companions. She had no doubt the two would have no problem getting past the guards, and sure enough, it only took a few moments for Murkrow to swoop down and glide to a halt beside her, followed closely by Joker, surrounded in an Aqua Jet as he shot down to the floor and came to a screeching stop. The three could already hear the sounds of scuffles from the barracks, where Explorers were being jostled awake and into battle by the noise of the war taking place above their heads.

"Shall we join them?" Murkrow asked, unsure of why Weavile was hanging back.

"Why do you think Bisharp is doing this?" Weavile asked, ignoring his question.

"Is this really the time to be asking that?" Joker replied, "If you have misgivings, you should have voiced them a long time ago."

"I've had misgivings from the get-go. Anything Bisharp says should be taken with a grain of salt. It's obvious he's doing this for his own benefit, but my question is what could he possibly have to gain?" Weavile explained.

"We've survived this long by minding our own business," Murkrow pointed out, a wary tone in his voice. "Whatever Bisharp's planning, I think it's best not to ask too many questions."

"I suppose you're right," Weavile conceded, casting a wary glance towards Joker. _Nothing_ , and then, grinning, _Everything_. It would be best to keep her nose out of the business of the Mad Jack. Just treat him like a natural disaster, and ride in the wake of his chaos. Shaking these thoughts away, Weavile turned towards the cafeteria hallway. "Let's get moving."

She led her two companions down the hall into the large cafeteria. The sounds of battle echoed through the large clearing as the guild Pokémon desperately fought off the oncoming raiders. Weavile only took a moment to scan the battlefield, her eyes passing over tables flipped sideways for cover and screeching, adrenaline-driven invaders clawing their way over them, before her sweeping gaze fell upon an Audino, carrying a wounded Taillow in her arms as she cautiously sprinted through the battlefield.

A sly grin found its way to Weavile's face as she watched the Audino disappear into the kitchen, slipping behind a Simisear quietly guarding the entrance. The raiding Pokémon were too busy looking for their five seconds of glory to notice the quiet kitchen, but Weavile knew better. She gave Murkrow and Joker a sideways nod, indicating that was to be their target.

Murkrow instantly took to the air, having to work harder to stay alight in the still, underground air, but managing. There were a few other bird Pokémon, and most of them were too busy in their own battles to notice him gliding overhead. The crow circled the indoor battlefield a few times until Weavile was able to pick her way around to the far side of the door. Then, without so much as a moment of eye contact, the three criminals performed a synchronized attack from three directions towards the Simisear guarding the kitchen entrance.

Joker shot a Water Gun from the left side of the door, nearest to where the three had entered the mess hall from. At the same time, Weavile blew an Icy Wind from the opposite direction. With oncoming attacks from either side, Simisear was forced to retreat backwards through the doorway of the kitchen. From the colliding water and ice spray, Murkrow emerged, talons extended, and shoved Simisear all the way in, pinning him against the back wall.

As if breaking an illusion, the explosion of water and ice against the doorway of the kitchen attracted the attention of other fighting Pokémon nearby. As Weavile charged into the smaller room, she found herself immediately backed by the Raichu that had acted as the leader of the soldiers, as well as Joker and Arbok.

Murkrow's initial attack had surprised the fire-type, but it didn't hold him for long. As Simisear shrugged Murkrow off of him and turned to block any other Pokémon trying to come in, it became painfully clear to the bird that he was in over his head. He looked around the kitchen to see a Simipour and Simisage, ready to block and counter any attack Murkrow would make, and an Audino, healing a wounded Pachirisu with a Heal Pulse. The Taillow she had brought in was lying on a table, impatiently waiting for relief from a long gash across his wing. It was instantly apparent by how the four Pokémon remained completely calm that they were far more experienced than the Explorers fighting in the mess hall. These were staff Pokémon, and Murkrow understood in the split second that his eyes met Audino's that they would fight him if they had to, and he felt in his heart that they would win.

Murkrow would have surrendered to them if he were alone. Audino's guarded, yet passive gaze told him they wouldn't hurt him if he didn't pick a fight with them. But before any of them could speak, Weavile came catapulting through the door, followed by the other three bandits, raring for a fight. A complex mix of relief and terror washed over Murkrow all at once. Now that Weavile and Joker were here, they stood a fighting chance, but it also meant battle could no longer be avoided.

Weavile took only a second to glance across the room before exhaling another Icy Wind over the four Guild Pokémon. Simisear countered it with Incinerate, easily melting the icy shards into water puddles. Joker clamped his eyes tight and shot a Water Gun at the flames to help stave them off.

Weavile turned to look at the doorway to see more Pokémon finding their way inside. They seemed to think the kitchen was an enemy stronghold they needed to destroy, once guarded by an immovable obstacle, but now left defenseless. The Ice-type looked back at the four Guild staff members and decided to leave her comrades to the fight as she slipped back out into the mess hall. She would join the few others who attacked the dorms, or, at least she planned to.

" _You_." The word was uttered with hatred and contempt by a young but familiar tongue. Weavile turned around to see a Riolu only ten yards behind her, glaring at her with those dim red eyes. "I know you. You're from the caravan, right?"

"Caravan...? Oh! You're the kid that tried to stop our heist!" Recognition flashed in Weavile's eyes.

Riley clenched his teeth together, genuinely upset with her. He recognized her the instant he saw the back of her crown, and yet it seems she'd forgotten him. Pretending he was angry at something else, Riley growled. "You're leaving your comrades to fight on their own?" he asked, nodding towards the kitchen where a battle was raging. "Despicable."

Weavile laughed, "Are you surprised? I'm a big, bad bandit, remember?" she taunted, raising her claws in a "come at me" gesture. Her voice was mockingly sweet, like a Victreebel's aroma trying to bait in foolish prey. But Riley didn't take the bait immediately.

"I _am_ surprised," Riley stated calmly, but she could almost see the steam rushing out of his ears. "I still remember, even for a bandit you didn't seem that bad. You swapped places with that Breloom and took a Force Palm for him. Even if you were my enemy, I'd thought it was cool. But here you-"

" _Shut up_ ," she snarled. For a miracle, he did. The Riolu stopped mid-sentence as if struck, staring at her with accusing eyes and clenched fists. "I'm not here to listen to you prattle on. Your naivety is making me sick. C'mon, let's finish what we started already!"

The Riolu huffed, then nodded. " _That's_ something I can get behind," he proclaimed, pounding his fist into an open palm.

With a Quick Attack he dashed forward, closing the gap in an instant and driving a kick into her chest. Weavile staggered backwards with a muffled grunt. She'd been expecting another line from the kid, but apparently not. The Riolu went for a follow-up punch, but this time she was prepared and snatched him by the wrist, pulling him off his feet and throwing him into the wall behind her. Weavile opened her mouth and breathed an Icy Wind onto him. Rapidly frost tipped his fur and spread to cover the backs of his arms and legs and back. In half a second his left arm began to freeze to the wall, but Riley roared and ripped himself away, facing the Icy Wind head-on. He ran directly into it, feeling the frost grown on his face and his arms. She expected him to freeze, but Riley didn't stop until his ice-coated fist crashed straight into her chin, knocking the Ice-type off her feet and onto her back.

She laid there, cold blood pooling in her mouth, in shock. That wasn't a rookie move. Hadn't it only been ten days since they fought last? A mere ten days… Smirking, she jumped to her feet as the Riolu wiped the frost off his face and chest. They locked eyes again.

This time she made the first move, pouncing at him with her claws raised. The Riolu stood in place with his arms held out defensively. One after the other she unleashed a Fury Swipes, raking her claws across his skin again and again and again. She pushed him back and caught him whenever he tried to dodge out of the way. Annoyed, Riley dropped his guard, taking a slash across his chest as she shallowly cut him, before sheathing his tail in metal and pivoting around with an Iron Tail. Weavile tried to dodge, but the tip of it smashed into her hip, sending her spinning into the air.

She landed and winced, regaining herself just in time to catch the Riolu darting towards her. He leapt forward with his arm cocked back. Weavile ducked underneath a flare of aura and swept at his feet, tripping him onto the floor. Without wasting a moment she pounced on him, straddling his chest, and began her flurry of Fury Swipes. Cut after shallow cut formed along the Riolu's chest, splattering his red scarf with more red. Riley clenched his teeth, enduring the onslaught for only so long before he could do so no longer, and unleashed a loud howl of agony.

It was one of many that night, from both sides.

He was still screaming when he bucked underneath her, throwing her just enough to get one leg free. In one quick motion Riley brought his knee to his chest before driving his heel into Weavile's neck. She choked and flew backwards, wrapping her hands around her neck as she gasped for breath. Riley too was gasping. He patted his chest with his paws as he inspected his cuts. They stung fiercely, but not enough to stop him. Nowhere close to enough.

"I don't know what the hell you're here for," he snarled, "but you need to try harder than this."

"Yeah," she wheezed. "Seems that I actually need to try now."

At that moment from the mess hall emerged a painted Floatzel, anxiously looking around amidst all the chaos. "Weav?! Wea- Oh! There you are," shouted Joker. "I'd thought something happened to you."

"I told you," sighed a weary Murkrow covered in scuffs. "I told you, she wouldn't fight a losing battle, but you _never_ listen to me."

Joker paused momentarily, inspecting the scene and locking eyes with the Riolu. " _Right!_ He's an Explorer. Slipped my mind that we could run into him."

Murkrow stretched his wings and lowered his head to the ground like a hunting bird. "The kid that nearly took down Sableye, right? He could be pesky… If we're smart, the three of us could-"

" _No_ ," Weavile barked, keeping her eyes glued to the Riolu. Hearing her, the Riolu did the same, and the two stared at each other with contempt. "He's all mine. Don't touch him."

"But-"

"Shut your beak and stay out of this."

Murkrow gulped. "Al… alright."

And then over the Riolu's head soared a ball of fire. Weavile ducked as it passed her, heading straight for Joker's head. He yelped and jolted out of the way as it just barely missed him, where the ball of fire then burst apart on the stone wall, leaving a black burnmark as a scar. Riley didn't even need to turn to see who it was.

A seething Charmander stood in the entrance to the dorms, his blue eyes blazing. There was blood on his arm and his head. Not too much, not all of it from him, not enough to stop him. "There you are," he said, tongues of fire lapping at his maw. "How're you holding up?"

"Just fine," Riley answered, ignoring the cuts running across his chest. "And you?"

Pyro bared his fangs. "I'm fucking livid, that's how," he spat, advancing towards Weavile and her companions. She watched him in amusement. "Not only are we being invaded by low-life _scum_ , but now these three show up on top of it…"

And then finally came the Roselia. She was panting heavily, but seemed to be uninjured aside from her right eye which she clamped shut. For a moment she was flooded with panic, which changed to relief when she saw Riley still standing, and changed again to enraged shock when she then noticed Joker. The gangs were all there.

"You…?! What are you doing here?!" shouted Rose.

"What does it look like?" Weavile answered playfully. This was punctuated by a sudden, abrupt rumbling from overhead, where the Guild staff battled with Bisharp's trusted assassins. Dust and pebbles fell from the ceiling.

"It doesn't matter," Pyro sneered. "We can worry about their motives after we beat them all."

"That's being a little presumptive, don't you think?" taunted Murkrow.

Rose scowled. "A lot has happened since then. We're stronger than we were," she growled. "Losing to you here, after everything… I wouldn't be able to live it down!"

Riley grinned. "I couldn't have said it better myself," he said.

Flames billowed out of the Charmander's maw. "You don't deserve to end the day alive!" he screamed.

Joker cringed at the sight of the raging Fire-type, holding his paws in front of his chest. "M-my… Murky, you mind dealing with that for me?"

"Wh-what?" Murkrow stammered, darting his head to stare at the Floatzel in bewilderment. "Th-that's… Why can't I just take the Roselia? I'd have the type advantage. And you would, too."

"Yeah? Well… It'll be more interesting this way!"

" _Interesting?!_ Do you see where we are? This is hardly the time to-"

"Hey, you two," interrupted Weavile. They looked over to her, but her gaze was fixed ahead of her. "I don't care who you take on, but be careful. They aren't just rookies on a job anymore. Now they're stronger, and they're defending their home. They've got more weight behind them than we do." If that had been said on any other night, Riley would've been flattered to the point of his face flushing, but it was the other thing that Weavile said that stuck with him. _They've got more weight behind them than we do_. They weren't fighting for the sake of a job, or even the sake of their own pride. Even more than their lives were on the line tonight. They were fighting for the Guild.

"Tch. Whatever then," Murkrow mumbled.

And then, palaver was suddenly over, for the gap between Riley and Weavile was closed. With her arms the Ice-type had just barely blocked an Iron Tail, holding it back mere inches from her face. From behind her came a Floatzel veiled in an Aqua Jet soaring over those two and pouncing for the Roselia. At the last second she ducked and rolled underneath him as venom built up in her petals. Next came Murkrow, stretching his wings and taking flight into the room. Another Flame Burst came his way, fast enough that he couldn't fully dodge it, and the flames grazed the brim of his hat and his tail, but even still he dove for the Fire-type.

The Iron Tail faded away, and the limp tail fell off Weavile's arms as the Riolu whirled around with his fist cocked back. The first punch hit home right in her chin, but the second only grazed her. By the third Weavile caught the fist in her hand and pulled Riley off-balance. Her claws raked across his back in two quick slashes, leaving another series of shallow cuts along his skin. Barely hesitating, Riley crouched down and swept his leg at her ankles, but Weavile jumped back to avoid being tripped. From her mouth she blew an Icy Wind. Frost grew on the tips of Riley's fur and over his cuts, and for once, he winced and let slip a cry of pain.

Murkrow drove his beak into the Charmander's underbelly, piercing through soft flesh like a spear. For a brief instant the Charmander let out a cry. In the next, he bit down fiercely and suppressed his pain. His claws joined together and slammed into Murkrow's back. The bird squawked and flailed back, putting space between them. That space didn't last long. Flames coating his teeth, the Charmander lurched forward. His fangs bit down so close that they tore off feathers. Murkrow let out something between a yelp and a battlecry and, his beak sheathed in dark violet, struck the wounds on Pyro's head with a Feint Attack. Pyro roared in pain, his Fire Fang bursting into a cloud of embers.

Beneath Joker erupted Venoshock after Venoshock. Puddles of poison grew and expanded and burst outward, spraying drops of the burning toxins on the walls and ceiling. Splotches landed on Joker's painted fur, and for a second he would feel like he was beginning to rot, until he armored himself in an Aqua Jet to wash away the trace amounts. When he could he would counter with a swish of his tail, sending a wave of Swifts her way, but she wouldn't stop. The stars homed in on her, but she neither blocked it or fell back. Rose just took the hit and kept on going. Another Venoshock exploded underneath him. This time he dove down to avoid most of the 'shrapnel,' but out of the corner of his eyes he could just see three thorny vines shoot out of the blue petals of the Roselia's left hand. For a second, he panicked, for he recognized the Giga Drain. In the next, he saw his opportunity and seized it. With another Aqua Jet he abruptly changed directions and darted towards her, weaving around the throned tendrils. She raised the red flower to prepare something else, but it wasn't fast enough. Joker exploded out of the Aqua Jet with his fangs glistening in a thick layer of frost, and bit the small Grass-type in the side of her chest.

Rose moved her beady black eyes to inspect the damage, and let out a weak gasp. The Ice Fang was in nearly all the way to the gums. It took every ounce of her will not to scream, but even still, she was not angry.

"You… damn…!" she choked out.

"I'm sorry," he solemnly told her, gaze aimed at the ground. "It's… best if I end this quickly." He spoke clearly for someone with his mouth full.

"If… if you're so sorry, then… then why d-don't you leave?" Rose wheezed.

For an instant the Water-type seemed to consider, until he sighed. Hot breath soothed her freezing wounds. "I can't do that. It's… I'm sorry."

She bared her teeth, but even still the Rosalia was not angry. No, she was pumped. Her blood was up, even if it was starting to seep from her chest. "Then… _to hell with you!_ "

Instinctively Joker tried to let go and jump back, but a hand of thorny tendrils grasped him like the cold hand of death. Barbs prodded and shallowly pierced him in dozens of places. Joker squirmed and writhed desperately, only succeeding in making his restraints tighter. He opened his eyes to face the Roselia, but his vision was taken over by a red rose pressed against his snout. Joker held his breath in vain, for at this range, it was a guaranteed hit. From between the petals there blew a cloud of gold into his face. The Floatzel was overwhelmed with the scent of copper as his body was overcome with a Stun Spore. His movements were rigid, unreliable. His Ice Fang came loose, leaving him weakened in the grasp of the Giga Drain. Most of his strength was gone. His body felt heavy. When the throned vines retracted back into the Roselia, Joker found he was barely able to stand. His balance was all over the place.

"Just stop already," she spat. By the sound of her voice, Joker guessed she'd been waiting to throw that back at him for some time now.

Joker chuckled, albeit weakly. "Can't believe I fell for that. Weav's gonna get angry with me over this," he admitted, struggling but managing to get to his feet again.

The black bird flapped his wings as he backed out of another Flame Burst. Many of his feathers were singed and covered in a film of ash. Through the fire jumped the Charmander, narrowly missing Murkrow with a Fire Fang. He countered with a Wing Attack aimed at the Charmander's wounded arm. Pyro hissed and recoiled that arm, then brought the other forward and swiped at the bird. A glancing blow. And again, Murkrow countered with a Wing Attack, this one aimed directly at a cut along Pyro's scalp. In one instant he yelped. In the next, the flame on his tail was blazing. An inferno covered his jaws. In a flash of fear Murkrow stretched his wings and flapped away, only, his wings were seized by the Charmander's claws. Murkrow tried to pull away, but the Charmander's grip was tight. Too tight. As were his jaws.

Fire Fang sank into Murkrow's shoulder in searing agony. He opened his beak and squawked and squirmed, but it was no good. Pyro's claws held him like a vice, and his teeth pushed in further and further. Murkrow remembered this. This had been what took down Breloom. These relentless, starving jaws that only sunk further and further in no matter how hard he fought against it. Was there anything he could do? Murkrow looked to his left, where Joker was currently struggling against the Roselia. And to his right, Weavile was tied up with the Riolu. Whatever he did, he was the only one who could save him. And in that moment, he could only think of one plan.

Grimacing, Murkrow shifted his eyes to the Charmander's. They were just like they had been back then, two Dragon Rages burning with primal simplicity. Burning for the sake of burning… No, that wasn't quite true. It was burning for a purpose: to cleanse, to burn the rot away. The teeth slid in further, now hitting bone. Murkrow could feel his muscles cooking. He had to act quickly.

His beak became cloaked in a deep purple, and he arched his neck back. And he waited. Seconds seeped past him like hours, but he waited, until the Fire Fang was buried all the way up to the Charmander's gums. And then, he struck with an empowered Assurance, his beak hitting his opponent right in the eye. All at once Pyro screamed, releasing Murkrow from the relentless Fire Fang, and collapsed onto the ground. There he squirmed for a moment with a claw clutched over his left eye. Red oozed out. He was panting heavily, just barely holding back his moans. Murkrow was doing the same as he carefully inspected his fresh wound on his shoulder. He would have to get this checked when this was over.

"You…" groaned Pyro, staring at Murkrow with what was now his only good eye. Realizing that, Murkrow felt guilt compile in the pit of his stomach. He didn't want any of this. "That was… My best attack, and yet…"

 _And yet it almost killed me_ , Murkrow didn't say.

"I'm not… strong enough…!" His palm smacked the stone floor. "Damn it! I need to be… For everyone…!"

The bird turned away. Watching this pulled at his heartstrings in a way that hurt him more than any attack would. _Just… Go help someone else_ , he thought. _Get that Roselia out of the way, and then go save more of the rookies. And_ -

An explosion of light bloomed behind him just as he began to walk away. Beams of pure, glistening white danced across the walls. Murkrow locked up, and the fear inside him resurfaced and consumed him. This was the light of evolution. Murkrow was too afraid to turn around, but he knew what he would see. Behind him there was a Fire-type cocooned in blinding white as his body began to change, to shift, to grow. Eventually Murkrow found a nugget of courage and turned to face the light. It had taken shape, growing to nearly double the size of what the Charmander had been.

The light receded, exposing the newly birthed Charmeleon to the world. A small jet of blue flame coursed out of his open maw. "Everything's… hot," he noticed, curling and uncurling his claws. This body was pristine. None of the wounds he once had tainted his skin. Even his eye, which Murkrow had just taken out, was back in working order. The damage was still there, but there were no more weaknesses to exploit. Murkrow only had one ace up his sleeve, and that was the fact that Pyro was not used to this body yet. It was still strange to him. His moves would be sloppier. But, that wouldn't be enough to grasp victory. Murkrow knew that. Damn it, he knew that all too well.

Weavile clicked her tongue. "Shit."

"Awesome," snickered Riley. He didn't even mind that he wasn't the tallest member of his team anymore. The power of his friend's evolution seemed to be infectious, and he found himself practically giggling as he stood in a standoff with Weavile.

"Glad that's not my problem," mumbled Joker, staring at the newly-formed Charmeleon. He already had his hands full with the Roselia, who now stood smirking with her arms folded across her chest.

"If you didn't regret coming here already, you're about to," she proclaimed.

"Awfully confident, aren't you?" he observed, sliding into a three-point stance. He wouldn't admit to anything, even if moving just that much put so much strain on his joints.

"I've lost," whispered Murkrow, frozen in enemy territory. Charmeleon took a clumsy step forward, and then another. By the third he didn't seem like he was about to fall on his ass. And by the forth, Pyro looked up from his feet and glared at the small bird.

"For my friends," Pyro growled. "For the Guild, for Treasure Town and for Gallade… _I'll broil you!_ "

…

Five minutes had passed since the eclipse was finally over, and the sky now held a small scarlet sliver of the moon as it grew back to its full, grandiose color. Altogether, it had been fourteen minutes since Bisharp had stopped in front of the Guild. Fourteen minutes ago he had been bitter and playful and hungry for death. Fourteen minutes ago he had been the Mad Jack. Now, he was at peace.

The arena he and Gallade had formed was in pieces, scattered to the boundaries of these floating islands, for their battle had destroyed their island. Bisharp sat on a small piece of earth just barely bigger than an office chair, kicking his legs in the open air, as he sat gazing at the waxing moon. A web of cuts was carved into his body, lining the Steel-type from bladed head to bladed toe, trickling dark blood at a slow, controlled pace. He didn't let this bother him, for in that moment, he knew no stress. His fingers gently caressed Gallade's hair as the Guildmaster's head lay tranquil in his lap, eyes both shut, mouth ajar. It was almost as if he was merely taking a nap with his head rested on the Steel-type's thighs if not for one simple fact: the rest of his body was lost beneath the waves below.

"It's so pretty," Bisharp sighed to himself. "Everything aligns so precisely just for this to happen. Just a minute ago, the sun and the moon and us were lined up perfectly enough to create this grand shadow trickery. I remember Dedenne used to talk about planets where there are no eclipses, or where the moon wouldn't vanish completely and would instead just shift to red… Every piece of the cosmos has its purpose."

Gallade's mouth drooped down as his jaw grew slack, revealing a set of pearly teeth and a tongue that would speak no more. Countless tales of exotic lands, gripping stories, deadly adventures, complex politics, would never be told. His embarrassing moments, too, like his first love or his fledgeling adventures, or when the two intertwined, or his insecurities, would be lost to his world.

Chuckling, Bisharp slid his hand to gently close Gallade's mouth. "That's right. I don't remember who said that, but it's true. Pointless, but true," he thought aloud, running his fingers through Gallade's hair. "Damn it, it's gonna bother me all week. Who _did_ say that?" About thirty seconds passed, and Bisharp could come to no answer. He shook his head, exhaled in frustration, then went back to relaxing. "Oh well. I guess it doesn't matter, does it? Semantics are kinda… Well, we're beyond that right now." He crept a pinky finger further down to fiddle with the exposed muscle on his neck.

"You know, I don't appreciate what you said," Bisharp admitted. "Trying to kill me? Okay. I can understand that. I'm an asshole. But back there, you just pretended I didn't even matter. Like I was nothing to you. After all you've done to me, all we've been through, to treat me like any other thug on your doorstep… _Was_ I nothing to you?"

Bisharp was alone on Heaven's Isles. Once upon a time there had been life here, undisturbed by the outside world, but they were no longer here. Heaven's Isles were abandoned. Bisharp and Gallade had been their only guests in many years. Bisharp was completely alone. The nearest Pokemon was somewhere beneath the sea, a half mile below his feet. There was no one to answer him. Bisharp thought otherwise.

"So, that's how it is. I'm dead to you," the Steel-type sighed. "I came here fully prepared to be scrubbed from the annals of history. Seems that it already happened, so far as you're concerned." His lungs inflated with air, and his eyes flicked up to the waxing moon, hanging against the dark night like a bloody nail. "Well guess what? You aren't the guy you used to be either, you righteous tyrant. Suddenly you're the arbiter of truth, and heaven forbid anyone disagree with you and be wrong in your eye. Even when _you_ are the one putting the world in danger, you still force the world to either agree with you or stay out of your way. But now…" he beamed. "Now you're not here to get in the way, and I can clean up your mess."

The sentence echoed through Bisharp's head in a voice that seemed to age a hundred years. And he knew why that was, didn't he? He murmured it aloud, "Now you're not here…" and indeed, Bisharp sounded much older to himself, for in the blink of an eye, so much time had slipped past him. It felt like just last month when Gallade would still call him 'brother' and set out into dungeons, or when Garchomp held the peace together with nothing but a kindly, toothy smile. He could still remember vividly those tranquil spring mornings on his days off, when she was there. His darling Gwynevere. "Now you're not here…" The words had unexpected weight to them, and he knew why. Tonight was the dusk of an era. The Guildmaster was dead, chaos would reign, and it would be a long, long night before dawn heralded in a new era to take Gallade's place.

One last time Bisharp sighed it to himself, "Now you're not here…," but now it was the beginning of a question, the beginning of a thousand questions, none of which he dared to ask. There was little point in mulling over problems that weren't his to solve. Bisharp had a role to take, a place to be, worlds to save and humans to be rid of. The world would move on. Dawn would break.

Inflating his lungs once again, he gently picked up Gallade's head by his cheeks, twirling the head so that Bisharp stared into his exhausted eye. "Well, it was nice seeing you again, regardless of the circumstances. I'm happy to see what you've made of the world, even if you _are_ meddling in things beyond you. Maybe I'll see you again soon, eh?" Grimly he chuckled. A steel hand slithered off his cheek and onto his left forearm, where that intricate weave of otherworldly green and otherworldly red was tightly wrapped around Bisharp. Lovingly his fingers slid over the smooth fabric, razors' edge leaving no marks. "Thank you dearly for the gift, Gallie. Don't worry- I'll find _some_ way of making it up to you… Later though. For the moment I need to leave."

Bisharp's eyes gleamed red as a grin spread across his face. "Right now, I have a role to play." The Mad Jack snapped his fingers together with the sound of scraping steel, enveloping himself in a soft glow, before vanishing from the Heaven's Isles.

…

Rhyperior and Nidoking were locked together by the hands as they pushed against one another in a sumo match. Their stout legs left troughs in the dirt nearly a foot deep. Rhyperior's drill spun and whirred as it ground against Nidoking's horn, causing a stream of sparks to soar into the sky. Ropes of drool hung from the monster's fangs as it heaved and growled, with that same starving savage look in its eyes. It wanted nothing more than to tear into Rhyperior and crush whatever stone organ it had for a heart. It wanted to grind the Rock-type into nothing but gravel, but this was a task that proved difficult. Rhyperior nearly matched it in strength, and what little difference there was had been filled in by the natural bulk of a Rock-type. Every step Nidoking made only dug his opponent in deeper, anchored his feet in further.

That is, until Rhyperior let go of Nidoking's hands and lowered his shoulders. The monster was confused for an instant, and an instant was all he needed. Rhyperior reached for Nidoking's waist, and with one bellowing roar he hoisted the flailing Poison-type into the air.

"Keep going!" cheered Dusknoir. A Fire Blast exploded on top of him, coating him in flame and smoke, but the gatekeeper burst out of it and towards the Dragonite in a shadowy blur. Smoke trailed behind him as he crashed into the pesky flier with a Shadow Punch.

"I'll be damned," Marowak muttered, averting his attention from Blaziken to Rhyperior. With Nidoking held over his head, he took great, heavy steps from the troughs. "The dullard is dominating the destructive devil. A delightful development… Indeed, there isn't any disa-"

" _Shut up already!"_ thundered Blaziken, closing the gap between them and clocking him with a Blaze Kick. Shamefully, Marowak had actually let his guard down, and the kick hit his chin and punted him into the air. And then she crouched, enchanting herself with Agility, and leapt into the air to chase him down.

The flailing Nidoking held its hands together and swung them down, crashing into Rhyperior's back with an Earthquake. He bared his teeth and suppressed a cry. He felt his leg begin to buckle underneath him, but whether by amazing fortitude or indomitable will, Rhyperior took that next step, And the step after that. Despite that his body felt like it was about to fall apart he pressed onwards. Onwards towards the cabin that served as the Guild's face, and towards the cliff beyond it. When he was less than fifty yards from the edge, Rhyperior roared a fierce battle cry. He anchored himself to the ground and, with all his strength, hurled the Nidoking forward. It flailed and screamed and roared, keeping its eyes focused on the rock monster, and it didn't look away, even after it began to plummet off the edge of the cliff and into the scablands.

"Good riddance," he grumbled. He tried to turn around, but found that his left leg was stiff. It didn't want to move. Bitterly he glared at the unmoving stone hoof. _Not now, damn you. You always pick the worst times to act up._

Alakazam slowly clapped thrice. "My, my. That's quite a feat. I didn't think there was anyone who could take the monster on head-to-head like that," he noted.

"I am the bastion of this Guild; the impenetrable shield," Rhyperior brazenly claimed. "I wouldn't be worthy of that title if I could be beaten by some untrained savage." _Move already! They're depending on me, and I can't have you slowing me down!_ he thought to his unmoving leg, but every attempt to get it to work was met with a surge of pain. It was stubborn, just like he was.

Alakazam raised a single hand, summoning a dozen glowing orbs around him. Psyshock. "Impenetrable, you say? I've yet to find something that holds up to that name. Care to show me-"

A Blaze Kick crashed into the back of the Alakazam's head and spiked him into the dirt as Blaziken landed on him. The Psyshock dissipated. "At this rate, you lot are gonna bore me to death before this fight even finishes! Quit playing friendly. You're assassins, not solicitors!" she shouted, and then quickly fixed her gaze on Rhyperior. "Quick, you need to follow it!"

"What?!"

"Don't leave that Nidoking alone," she ordered. Alakazam tried to say something, but his mouth was being firmly pushed into the dirt.

"He's at the bottom of a cliff! What could he-" A boisterous crash and a deep, powerful rumbling beneath their feet interrupted him. An earthquake? No… rather, an Earthquake. "Why did I have to open my mouth?" he grumbled.

"You need to jump," said Dusknoir, ducking out of the way of an Ice Beam. "That thing could destroy the entire cliffside, which could ruin the structural integrity of the hill. It could bring the Guild down with it!"

"But…" Rhyperior swallowed. The drop was far, and with his old injury flaring up again, he might not be able to get back up by morning, let alone in time to be of any help. "You sure you can handle this without me?"

"Go already!" Blaziken shouted. Alakazam Teleported from underneath her to a few feet to her right. His spoons crossed over one another and a flash of pink light unleashed itself in a Dazzling Gleam, hitting Blaziken head on. She grimaced and closed her eyes before closing the gap and leaping forward to knee that damnable Psychic-type, but he warped away with another Teleport.

He took a deep breath. "Alright then," he sighed. _You will do as I tell you to. After this… After this, then you will rest. We'll sleep for an entire day. So long as you give me ten more minutes, I will… I'll…_ Wincing, Rhyperior took a step. And then another. And another, and another, and another, until he began to run in his own clumsy barreling charge. "Leave him to me!"

"No you don't!" shouted Dragonite. An Ice Beam built up in his mouth, but Dusknoir reached up and grasped his muzzle, holding it shut. He looked with fear into the gatekeeper's single red eye that drifted balefully in the void.

"Yes, he does," he said.

And then came the sound of scraping metal, like a knife grinding against a whetstone.

Rhyperior was abruptly swept off balance and fell flat on his face, tumbling across the dirt like a rolling boulder. He slid closer and closer to the cliff, until he was saved by a steel boot stamping firmly on the back of his neck. The toes were sharp and cold, and Rhyperior recognized them immediately. Blaziken froze. Dusknoir let go. Dragonite flew idly in place. Alakazam teleported in from somewhere. Even Marowak, who was running in to join the frey again, slowed to a walk. Everyone stared at the newly arrived figure, at the victor of the Guild war.

"No, he doesn't," said Bisharp coldly. There he stood, covered in a thousand cuts, giving them a sharp gaze. But that wasn't what made everyone stop. No, that was thanks to Gallade's head, clutched by the hair in Bisharp's hand. His eyes were both shut as if he were merely asleep.

"He actually did it," whispered Blaziken, her arms hanging by her side. She couldn't decide whether to leap forward in rage or collapse in despair, so instead she just stared at the head of the Guildmaster. "Gallade… Gallade actually lost?"

Dusknoir shuddered. "This has to be a nightmare," he said. "This can't be…"

"It is," Marowak sneered, glaring at the Fire-type through the holes in his skull mask. "Your idol has been imolated in the integrity-"

Flames sheathed Blaziken's foot as she whirled around to the alliterating swordsmon, fully intending to rip out his tongue, if not kill him. She only stopped because of the harsh bark of Rhyperior that rattled her. " _Enough!_ " he bellowed. Silence. He took a few heavy, raspy breaths. "We're… we're through here."

And indeed, Bisharp wasn't moving. He stood there menacingly, covered with blood and scars, but nothing about his demeanor was aggressive. And why should it be? Bisharp had already accomplished everything he set out to do. He was, just as Rhyperior said, through.

"Alakazam," Bisharp called, and the Psychic-type bowed his head towards his master. "Go collect Nidoking and head to the prearranged location. We will catch up with you shortly."

"Yes, sir." Alakazam put his hands together and enveloped himself in a Teleport. A second later he was at the bottom of the cliff, put his hands on the monster, and then warped away again to deal with the beast.

Then Bisharp shifted his gaze to his winged companion. "Dragonite." The Pokemon called for perked up. "You and Marowak should be ready to fly away. I need to do one more thing before I leave."

"Don't be so sure," Blaziken snarled, raising her Blaze Kick to leap forward. For the second time in her life, she was trembling in fear and standing tall in spite of it. Bisharp would kill her in a fair fight. She knew that, and the current state of the Guildmaster only fortified that conclusion. But, this wasn't a fair fight. Bisharp was heavily wounded. This would be her best chance to kill him. And she wasn't the only one to see that.

The Steel-type sighed, and then met her ferocity with cold reluctance, like he was doing her a favor by looking at her. "If I sent Dragonite and Marowak away, you probably could beat me," he admitted. "The three of you together could take me down, but not for free. At my estimates, I would kill either Rhyperior or Dusknoir, and then Blaziken and I would kill each other. That would leave only one of you. One member of the Guild staff to watch over and secure Treasure Town." Blaziken narrowed her eyes. Dusknoir stared cautiously. Neither of them seemed on edge anymore, so that was a step forward. "The Guild is dead, and the kid who's next in line isn't anywhere near ready yet. It will take some time to establish another Guild. So, let's say you killed me, and all that's left is… Rhyperior, let's say. One guy. One slow guy to defend this town. What's to stop the brigands from coming back? What's to stop this town from becoming food for the bandits again? Nothing but a stone wall that can only walk towards them and hope they don't run around him. Arceus forbid they can fly."

Dusknoir hummed thoughtfully. "That… That makes sense," he said consideringly. "But why should I trust a murderer?" The words were stated calmly with no intent to start a fight.

"Because, I like this town. I grew up here. It doesn't deserve to fall to raiders," he said earnestly. Disarmingly earnestly.

Reluctantly, Blaziken dismissed the flames that sheathed her leg and returned to an idle stance. "Just what is it that you need to finish up?" Bisharp smiled, and then told her.

…

Kirlia grunted as he removed his dagger from the belly of a Delcatty. The feline let out one final weak hiss before slumping forward and falling onto the floor. It had been a pesky opponent, and Kirlia was not sad to see it go. That was the thing he hated about assassins. They tended to forego skill and replace it with battlefield trickery. Fighting with nothing but gimmicks-... _gimmicks_ … The word made him fume in his head, derailing his train of thought. _That damn Riolu…_

"Watch out!" Behind him Buizel tackled Kirlia to the ground with an Aqua Jet. Just as he did so the swirling laser of a Hyper Beam burst overhead and crashed into the wall behind them, drilling through and leaving a deep hole in its place. Kirlia looked up to see a panting Raticate standing in the hallway, leaning heavily on her right leg.

"Th… Thank you," Kirlia said.

"Don't mention it!" Before he could even finish the sentence he was on his feet again with his tail shrouded in an Aqua Tail. Before the Raticate could regain herself she was knocked into the wall. Her eyes closed, and she fell onto the floor not too far from Delcatty. "Damn vermin. I'd expect nothing less from invaders."

Kirlia chuckled grimly and stood up, his blue bracelets sliding down to his wrist. "I was just thinking the same thing." He looked down the hall to check for any new assailants and was greeted by a Luxio sprinting towards him at damn near full speed. Tufts of fur were burned and dirt matted his hind legs. "Perfect. You're okay. How is everything?"

"Not great, but it could be worse," Luxio answered. "Six casualties. Everyone else who's been badly injured has been brought to Audino in the kitchen. The chefs have that place mostly secure with the help of Team Twister and Team Sunder."

"They're in good hands," said Buizel.

Kirlia clicked his tongue. "Six casualties," he repeated, letting it sink in. Six Pokemon that he and everyone else had failed to protect. He supposed only six so far wasn't too bad, but as far as he was concerned, six was too damn high. Even just one was ludicrous. He gripped his dagger tightly and began to hurriedly stride down the hallway. "Don't let any of these invaders escape. We'll show them that we're not to be trifled with."

"One more thing," said Luxio, following his leader but speaking more towards Buizel. And with the look of someone unloading a huge, awkward weight off his back, Luxio told him what he saw when he was scouting. "Rose is currently squaring off against Joker."

All at once Buizel was numb to the adrenaline in his system. The anger that had been focused and honed into a razor's edge slipped from his hands to be replaced by flimsy, useless shock and confusion. "What…? You mean, Joker's…?"

He didn't finish, but Luxio nodded anyways. "Yeah. Maybe we can get some answers from your brother aft-"

The ceiling in the Guild's heart collapsed with a deafening roar as great, thick slabs of stone grinded against yet more stone and smashed apart on the floor. Torrents of air whipped and stirred through the halls, carrying smoke and dust down every hall and into every room. Pokemon closer to the epicenter were blown into the walls or tumbling down the halls like ragdolls. Riley had been one of them pinned against the wall by a boulder nearly as big as he, and Rose was carried by the shockwave into the halls of the dorms. Things were eerily silent for seconds afterwards. The fighting had stopped, the cries were no more, no one dared to move. It was just the rocks settling and falling off one another, mere pebbles joining the chunks and slabs, and a cloud of dust obscuring the very center. The source of all this. Kirlia gripped the dagger tightly, but it was more for comfort than anything else.

After a half hour seemed to pass in the span of fifteen seconds, there was finally another sound again. Dry, raspy laughter with a metallic tone echoed through the halls of the Guild, never dying in strength. It sounded like it was coming from everywhere, like there were a thousand voices all cackling as one in some sort of surreal nightmare. The dust began to stir and shift, and it became thin enough for the moonlight from above to show through, revealing the face of the Guildmaster.

Kirlia exclaimed in short-lived relief, only for his tongue to seize up, "Galla-"

His body was gone.

Gallade's neck lead to nothing, for it was only being held up by his hair clutched in a steel-bladed hand. Blood dripped both from Gallade and his killer onto the stone as the laughter continued, only growing more and more giddy with each passing fit. The dust shifted more to show everyone the culprit. A gaunt Bisharp with smears of rust on his face stood before them wearing a thin smile, as his otherworldly red eyes admired his trophy. Those that weren't paralyzed let out a shocked gasp. A few even screamed. Still, no one moved.

"Behold the death of an era!" the Mad Jack cackled. Sweet and terrible, like a madman's lullaby. "The Guildmaster is no more! No longer will the world dance to his tune!" Around him the dust began to settle, leaving him in a beam of moonlight.

Finally he took his eyes off of the severed head and began to look around. In the mess hall the chefs were doing their best not to piss themselves, and behind them, Bisharp heard Audino's soft sobs. Others were crying as well. His own Pokemon, his unwilling raiders, ranged from fortified terror to terror with a side of relief. He saw the latter when he looked into Weavile's eyes. He could practically hear her whisper, _Glad he's on our side_ , which wasn't entirely true but was close enough.

"The show's over now. Stay here at your own risk, for the job is already done," he told them. "A lot of you did better than I thought. That intel really was reliable, wasn't it?" Grinning, he raised his other arm to admire the red and green weave of fabric he now wore on his forearm. "Not only did he tell me who'd be here, but he even showed me where this baby would be… Where is he? C'mon, show yourself. I gotta thank you."

A curious murmur swam about as Bisharp swept his gaze across the Guild. Explorers looked to one another with a doubtful glint in their eyes. If someone sold them out, they wouldn't get away with it. And this sentiment was held strongest by Kirlia, who began marching forward with the dagger clutched in his hands. "I'm gonna kill him," he seethed. "That Bisharp, and then that traitor, whoever he is. They won't get away with this."

"Aha! There you are! C'mere, slugger!" called the Mad Jack, grinning a wide, fatherly grin as he gestured for someone to come closer. Everyone stared in astonishment as a Riolu pushed the boulder off of himself and stood up to face him, his fists clenched. Everyone, including Riley himself.

"Excuse me, _what?_ " Riley hissed through his teeth.

"Oh, don't be so modest. I couldn't have done any of this without your snooping around," Bisharp loudly proclaimed.

Right about then, Murkrow had stalked over to Weavile and put his beak right next to her ear. "We should get going about now. I have a feeling things are about to get ugly." To that, she nodded, and amidst the dust and the distraction, they began to slink away. As the Guildmembers' eyes were focused on the spectacle playing out before them, their enemies quietly slipped away, leaving no one for the remains of the Guild to question afterwards. Even those with dire wounds did their best to inconspicuously drag themselves to the exit, although they were prepared to end their lives if they proved unable to escape.

Meanwhile, Riley couldn't really think of anything to say back to the Mad Jack. For one, the claim was ridiculous, and for another, the boulder pinning him to the wall had rocked his head pretty badly. He couldn't think straight. All he could manage was the simple but reliable, "Shut up."

Bisharp sighed, then chuckled humorlessly. "I should've known you'd deny me," he said. "Lying is in your nature, right? After all, you humans survive by deceiving others."

Maybe if Riley's head were clear, he could've gotten out of that. Maybe he could have bluffed, or responded by immediately attacking, or really doing anything. But it wasn't clear, and he didn't. The word 'human' stopped Riley in his tracks and instilled a new kind of fear into him. _He knows…?_ was all he could think. By the time he remembered where he was, he realized the look on his face: hopeless fear. His emotions betrayed him, and expression admitted what his words would not.

His head whipped around to his fellow Guildmates to try and persuade them differently, but it was already too late. Luxio stared at him wide-eyed and speechless while Buizel refused any sort of eye contact at all. Kirlia glared with disgust and rage, his small frame taking great, snarling breaths as every bit of his will sent towards not killing him on the spot.

The worst was when Riley looked to the newly-evolved Charmeleon. His friend that not just fought by his side but actually put up with Riley's antics and whims. A friend that he didn't deserve. Pyro looked down at him, his eyes upturned in a sorrowful gaze. "Is this… Riley, is what he's saying true?"

"No!" Riley nervously barked, and then immediately regretted it. Denying it now would only make him look like even more of a liar. "It's… I mean, yeah, but I'm not…" He winced and put a paw against the side of his head. "L-look, I can't think right now, but I'm-"

"He's a spy," Bisharp finished for him. "A human who hates your world for taking him away from his family and wants to destroy it."

Even in his hazy state, Riley never knew hatred as he did right then. He'd been annoyed, he had been ticked, and he'd even been enraged. Right then, Riley wanted nothing more than to kill Bisharp. Anger was a reasonless, fleeting flash of emotion, and in that moment it consumed him. He brandished his fangs in their entirety, retracting his lips so that even his gums were showing. The Riolu howled and sprang forward with a Quick Attack. As hard as he could he threw a fist forward. Casually Bisharp reached out and snatched the Riolu by the wrist and snaked his other arm around his back.

"Yes, an excellent idea. We should probably leave right about now," said Bisharp. And before Riley could do anything, he snapped his steely fingers with the sound of knives scraping together, and then they were gone.

Kirlia bared his teeth in a vicious, twisted snarl. "After them!" he bellowed. "I want every single _one_ of them captured and locked up!" At his words, the remaining assailants made a mad sprint for the exit, a staircase that was now just a hole in the ceiling. And only a step behind came a rush of Guild Pokemon to capture them. A Noctowl trying to fly out was struck out of the sky by Luxio's Thunderbolt. An Arbok tried desperately to slither away and out of a Machoke's grasp, but she was no match for his strength. Some did get away though. A Graveler fought well to pin down a Foretress, but in the end wasn't able to get a solid enough grapple and let that one get away.

"What should we do about Riley?" asked Buizel. "Should we go after him? Get him back?"

For an instant, Kirlia seemed to consider the possibilities. But he knew deep down just what he'd say from the moment his companion posed the question. "Put a bounty on him. For conspiracy, for treason, and for being a damned human. Alive."

"W-what? But-"

"Everything is in shambles, and it's because of that damn Bisharp! If Riley has anything to do with the son of a bitch who murdered… Gallade… Then I'll hunt him down myself if I must," Kirlia proclaimed. "We can sort out what to do later, but right now we have to hunt down as many Pokemon responsible as we can."

…

Bisharp tossed Riley away into a sea of grass. An endless plane of tall grass waving in an endless breeze. He recognized the wind's soothing whisper almost immediately, and in a fit of panic and fleeting adrenaline the boy scrambled to his feet. Whispering Prairie, bathed in the faint moonlight of the growing moon. Riley whirled his head around to face Bisharp, features obscured by the shadow cast by his steel helm.

"You shouldn't be able to learn Teleport," he said, agitated but curious. "How the hell did you bring me here?"

"Are you sure you want to ask that?" Bisharp asked. "I'm willing to give you only one answer tonight. You know, as an apology. Do you really wanna waste it?"

Riley's ears twitched. Now he was just agitated. "'An apology?' For attacking the Guild, murdering Gallade, and… and _framing_ me as a traitor?! Take your apology and choke on it!" he snapped.

Bisharp chuckled, now with humor to spare. "I guess that's fair."

"'Fair?!'" He strode forward, aura swelling around his fist. Bisharp grinned playfully. "You shut your mouth about being 'fair!' None of this is 'fair!' You've stolen _everything_ from me!"

"Yes! Yes!" cheered the Steel-type. "Make this all about _you_ some more, why don't you?!"

Strides turned into a jog, into a run, and then into a sprint. Bisharp outstretched his arms welcomingly with a proud smirk upon his shadowy face. Gallade's severed head still dangled by his hair, swaying in the gentle breeze. The valiant leader that gave him asylum when Riley found himself here, the father-figure that gave him a family and a purpose and excitement like he never knew… He was no more. With a fierce, childish roar, he drove a Force Palm into Bisharp's chest, right between the blades. A flower of aura bloomed outward and blasted the Mad Jack off his feet. The tall grass knelt in the shockwave. Direct hit, right in a nest of wounds.

He skidded backwards through the dirt as he landed on both feet and one hand, still holding the head up tall. Starlight bathed his face and revealed his dark, astonished eyes and wide, pleased smile. "Nice job, kid. I actually felt that one!" Riley stared, mirroring his astonishment. The sheer force of his reality crashing back down to earth cleared the haze in his mind, providing Riley with the truth. That one hit had been everything he had. If that wasn't enough to even make a dent… Riley didn't even have to finish the thought. "But now, I think you get where you stand. You're far from being able to kill me."

In defeat the Riolu dropped to his knees. "I can't win," he whispered. His head fell back so that he was absently gazing at the cosmos. Methodically a pair of footsteps began to stroll towards him, footsteps belonging to a Pokemon far greater than him. A Pokemon that had the strength to take what he wanted and ruin everyone's lives, to pull the strings and cut them at whim, and Riley couldn't stop him. "I'm… I'm nothing. You're gonna get away, and there isn't anything I can do." Riley slumped over, burying himself in the grass. Everything had been taken from him, and he was powerless to do anything about it. He could feel the tears well up in his eyes.

"There there, kid," Bisharp cooed. "I'm not gonna hurt you. If I was gonna do that, I would've just killed you back at the Guild." His only answer was a dry sob as Riley tried to keep himself together. "No, you're innocent in all this. You didn't ask for any of this. And that's not fair."

"Rose didn't ask for this," Riley muttered. "Pyro didn't. Kirlia didn't. Dusknoir didn't."

"And yet," he continued as if he hadn't heard anything, "Gallade marked you. He gave you a gift. I couldn't tell you what he foresaw, but… Well, let's see what he saw. You have a name, kid?"

"Riley," he answered hesitantly. "Just, get this over with."

"'Riley.' Fitting enough," Bisharp chuckled. "There are three paths ahead of you, Riley. You can walk with me on the path of truth. You will gain answers, you will gain strength, and you'll go back home by the end." Riley perked his ears at that word, 'home.' "You can carve your own path on the path of ideals. Find strength and purpose within yourself, set sail towards your own truth. I don't know what you'll do during then, but I know it also ends in you going home."

"Home?" Riley wiped at his eyes and got back to his feet. The face of his brother flashed in his mind, surrounded on both sides by the phantoms of his parents. "You mean, I can go back?"

Bisharp gave him a knowing grin, like there was an inside joke the boy wasn't in on, but the only one Bisharp could've shared it with was currently dangling by his hair. "It's either that, or you take the third path," he said. "The path of ash, where you ignore your role, ignore this fickle world, and let everything die."

Half of Riley gulped, and the other half clenched a fist. He didn't know if he was afraid or angry. "What do you mean, 'let everything die'?" he asked.

Finally Bisharp strolled past Riley, continuing without so much as a glance. Behind him Gallade's head hung over his shoulder with that sleepy, peaceful look on his face. "Pick your path, Riley. No one else will do it for you."

He barely even hesitated before giving his answer. "Fuck the paths, I'm coming for you," barked Riley. "I'm gonna get stronger. I don't know how, but I am. Strong enough that no one can take from me ever again!" Before he knew it there were tears in his eyes, and his fangs flashed a grimace filled to the brim with malice. "I'll become just as strong as Gallade, and then go even further! I'll do whatever it takes, and then…!" He watched as Gallade's peaceful face began to loosen, and the eyelid of his scarred eye opened just a sliver. In his own nonsensical way, the Guildmaster was listening, watching. The tears streamed down his face. "I'll come back! I'll hunt you down and kill you with my own hands!"

Over the prairie's gentle cries, Bisharp let out a short, dry laugh. Riley glared into the back of his head with hatred overflowing from his eyes. "That so…" Not entirely a statement, not entirely a question. It hung in the air for a while before mercifully, Bisharp spoke again, a mere three words. "See you soon." His fingers snapped, steel scraping against steel, and then he was gone.

And Riley was entirely alone. In the morning he'd be marked as a criminal, and his face would be up on the wanted boards next to all the others he used to choose from. Maybe Treasure Town's Guild would still be in order, and he'd have his fellow Guildmates, or even his friends, hunt him down. Everyone he met the past two weeks, everything he had done for Treasure Town, everywhere he went and helped, all of it had been burned away in the course of five minutes. Erased. No more was Riley the Explorer. Hello world, meet Riley the Outlaw.

An explosive Force Palm blasted into the dirt beneath the Riolu's feet. Soil and pebbles and long, wispy blades of grass flew up and showered down onto the seething boy. He hated this. He hated everything. None of this was fair. Riley tilted his head back and shouted to the heavens, "I didn't ask for any of this!" The sky answered with only more soft winds, more gentle whispers through the grass, for the heavens are apathetic to the plights of the earth.

Slowly, as the last of the soil rained down, he could feel the blood in his veins cool down, for grief had finally consumed him. Riley dropped to his knees, then onto his side, then curled up into a ball in the pit of the crater. Silently he sobbed into the dirt, and he cried until he ran out of tears. Part of him, a part that vowed to remain alive and standing, promised to remember this feeling, to remember this weakness. But he didn't feel alike. He didn't feel like standing anymore. "I wanna go home," he whimpered, shivering in the cold wind.


	28. Chapter 28: From the Shadows

In the quiet library of Knowall Town, Espeon normally locked the door after hours. The library halls were dark, and the only light came from the soft glow of a candle on the front desk as the librarian sat in his chair and read a book. Tonight, he was expecting a rather rowdy group of visitors, and so the door remained unlocked.

His visitors flung the door open and rushed in, panting from their trek all the way from Treasure Town. "Espeon!" Weavile called to him as she led her small group to the front desk. "We won!"

"Congratulations," Espeon didn't look up from his book.

"Gallade's dead!" Weavile exclaimed.

"Mmm," Espeon flipped the page.

Weavile waited a moment for him to say something else, and when he didn't, her excited expression shifted to an agitated confusion. "Did you hear what I said? Gallade, the Guildmaster, is dead. Bisharp cut off his head."

Espeon sighed and looked up finally. He saw Weavile, blood staining her dark fur, standing beside Joker and Murkrow. Joker's fur was coated in dirt, and his dark expression seemed more like he had lost the battle. Murkrow was trying to control his breathing, and his shoulder was bleeding heavily. His feathers were singed all over, and he looked like he was going to collapse at any second. "Listen," Espeon started, "my job is to report information to my boss, and make sure you don't kill yourself. The whereabouts of Gallade's head doesn't fall under either of those jobs. What do you want me to do, give you a cookie? Congratulations, you did your fucking job. Whoop-de-doo. Clean yourself up and quit dripping blood on my floor. I just swept it." He opened the bottom drawer of his desk and took out a small kit of berries and bandages, passing it to Joker, who immediately began treating Murkrow's wound.

Feeling dejected, Weavile turned away and grumbled, "We killed the Guildmaster that was giving Persian trouble for years… Even he kept his paws off, but we destroyed them in one night."

Espeon laughed, "'Destroyed them'? You didn't destroy them!"

"What do you mean? Their Guildmaster is dead. Their base has a big-ass hole in it. Their morale is crushed," Weavile pointed out. "They've turned against each other, for God's sake!"

Espeon quickly jumped over his desk and slapped Weavile's cheek with his paw harshly. It didn't hurt too bad, but the pure shock of the action caused Weavile to fall backwards onto the floor. She put her hand over her cheek in astonishment as Espeon growled at her, "Don't use that word here! Do you want to be killed?"

It took Weavile a moment to realize what she'd said. "It… It just slipped out. I didn't mean to-"

"Forget it. The reality is you haven't _destroyed_ the Guild. All you've done is weakened them temporarily. Gallade has a son, and he's going to rebuild it. You can count on that. And when he does, he's going to want revenge. You haven't destroyed his Guild, you've only killed his father. When he grows up, fueled by the pain of seeing his father's head on a stick, you can bet your ass he's going to cause problems. Gallade will likely turn out to be the lesser of two evils." Weavile listeners to his omen quietly, silently thinking he was full of shit. How much trouble could an orphaned brat cause? She rolled her eyes inwardly, making sure the Psychic-type didn't pick up on her skepticism.

"So, what's the plan now?" Murkrow, now sitting sitting against a bookshelf with his shoulder bandaged, asked wearily.

"Now? Now we finish what we started," Weavile grinned. "We'll go to each of the divisions and make sure the leaders are on our side. Then we'll charge the mansion and kill Persian."

"Kill him?" Joker gave her a worried look. "Why not just chase him out?"

"He knows too much. If we don't kill him, he could rat us out to the Guild," Weavile pointed out.

"You mean the Guild we just raided? The one in shambles?" Murkrow retorted.

"In case you've forgotten, Leavanny's Guild is still in working order. They may specialize in more domestic cases, but they can still raid our hideouts and arrest us all. Smartass," Weavile spat. Joker sighed. She had a point, but he didn't like it.

"You're awfully optimistic for someone who could barely handle three explorers," Espeon commented as he walked back to his desk and hopped back into his chair.

"I would have won if Bisharp hadn't interrupted," Weavile defended. "There's no way I'll ever lose to that Riolu. But I see your point. As we are now, we stand no chance. That's why we need to make sure the other divisions are with us. So we'll use the time while we're recovering to visit each hideout and get all the division heads on our side. We have the circus and the orphanage, but that definitely isn't enough."

"Especially since those are the two weakest divisions in the organization," Espeon remarked.

"Alright, Division-of-one, you've just earned yourself a trip to Carrion Woods to talk with the Interrogation Division," Weavile spat.

"Oh, please. We all know you were gonna send me there, anyway," Espeon replied.

"So, Espie will talk with Kuro. Where should Murky and I go?" Joker seemed to have shaken off his dark thoughts and returned to his smiling self.

"Murkrow should go to the Clean-Up Division in Seasnow City and talk to Delibird. That leaves the Assassination Division and-"

"For the love of Arceus," Espeon interrupted with a groan, "Leave Bisharp out of this. Do you really want to intentionally bring that walking bloodbath into your rebellion?"

"F-fair point… we'll assume the Assassination Division is going to remain neutral in this. So that leaves the Scavenger Division. From what I heard, Sableye and his remaining lackeys are hiding out with the circus until they can form a new base. That makes Joker the perfect one to go convince him to join the cause."

"Right. I'll talk to him when I get back," Joker agreed.

"And what will you be doing while we're asking for help?" Murkrow asked Weavile.

"I'll hold a training camp for the orphans. We need them to help us fight, and if they want a chance at walking away alive, they're gonna need a lot of work," Weavile explained. "We'll meet back here on the first day of the Month of Raikou with everyone, and then, we'll take the mansion."

"First day? You realize the Month or Raikou is the first month of summer, right?" Joker asked.

"Yeah, so?"

"So, I have to be back at the circus for the festival during the Summer Solstice. They're heading to Wrystberg as we speak. That's almost all the way across the continent. There's no way I can make it back here in a day whilst leading a bunch of foot soldiers with me. If we rush, it'll raise suspicion," Joker explained. "We're already on Gallade's watch list - although I don't think that matters too much anymore."

Weavile sighed and turned to the Psychic-type, "Can you help him out?"

Espeon looked at her skeptically. "Do you know how exhausting it is for me to schlep a small troop across an entire continent?"

"More exhausting than fighting the boss of a criminal organization head-to-head? I'm not asking you to join the fight, because I know you don't like fighting. I don't think I've ever actually seen you in combat. So the least you can do is ferry some troops to fight for you," Weavile chastised.

Espeon thought for a moment. "Alright," he decided. "But," Weavile instantly knew she wouldn't like what came next, "in exchange, Kuroba is to be uninvolved with this fight."

"What? But we need him!" Weavile protested. "If _anyone_ can level the playing field, that lunatic can! Our foot soldiers may be good for meat shields and the forest Pokémon, but we still have monsters like Arcanine to deal with!"

"It's _because_ he's a lunatic that I don't want him involved. He's a wild card. He wouldn't fight to make you leader. He wouldn't even fight to stop you from being leader. He fights for blood, win or lose. I'm not even sure if he's capable of differentiating between allies and enemies. You've been in his lair, for Arceus' sake; you should know. If he's on the battlefield, you'll lose a whole lot more than you bargained for," Espeon warned.

Weavile could see truth in his words. Kuroba was a mystery. She had only met him a handful of times, and every time she did, she hated him. She feared him. Espeon handled most of the communication between Kuroba and Persian, and so he was most familiar with the ghost, so if he said Kuroba was bad news, Weavile would be a fool not to listen.

"Alright," she decided. "We'll let Kuroba sit it out, and in exchange, you act as Joker's ferry to and from Wrystberg."

"Actually," Joker chimed in, "I'd rather go there by myself."

"Are you sure?" Weavile asked.

"Yeah. Even I need some time by myself for a while. A lot has happened recently, and I need time to properly sort it all out. Plus," as if realizing he wasn't cheery and aloof enough, he smiled happily, "it's better to show up at the festival at the last minute. The hero always shows up right in the nick of time!"

Weavile knew he had been acting off since before the raid. Upon seeing him lighten up again, she gave him a smile, as though she believed he was okay. She _wanted_ to believe he was okay. She didn't have time to make sure, to sit down and ask, so she hoped it was nothing. She told herself he was just shaken from the events at the Guild. "Alright, then you'd better leave soon, or you'll get Hell from your troupe," she warned.

Joker laughed. It was his usual devil-may-care laugh. Weavile loved that laugh. Relief washed over her as she heard it. _He's okay,_ she thought to herself. _We're okay._

…

Joker was the first to depart from the library. He borrowed some money from Espeon and hired a transportation service, then set off from Knowall Town in the early hours of the morning, atop the back of a Sawsbuck.

He spent a lot of the time in his own head. The words Gallade had spoken to him in the jail cell worried him. Joker had known humans weren't welcome in this world, but he had no idea how bad it was. And Espeon's reaction to human words such as "god" proved that Gallade wasn't lying. Now, that Riolu from the Guild had been outed as an Outworlder. Joker was sure, now that he thought about it, that it was true. Bisharp probably lied about Riley being his mole, but there was no doubt in Joker's mind that Riley being a human was the truth. The excitement in the boy's eyes when they fought, the thirst for strength and the drive to win… Those weren't the feelings of someone who had been raised in this world. He clearly enjoyed this world more than his old one. _I wonder if he remembers his old world,_ Joker couldn't help thinking. He thought it was unfortunate that they were on opposite sides; he'd have loved to sit down and talk with the Fighting-type.

Joke could almost hear Weavile's voice in his head, _He's an enemy, why are you talking about sitting and talking with him?_ It was true, such thoughts were dangerous for his resolve. He already had a hard enough time fighting those kids, he doesn't need to make it harder on himself by thinking he wished they could get along.

He switched his train of thought off the Riolu and focused on the other events of the previous night. They now had plenty of time to sink in fully. Joker had taken part in the murder of the Guildmaster. He was sure there'd be papers for his arrest now. With his painted fur, he was sure someone had recognized him. _Although,_ he thought, _it_ was _the middle of a war. There's a chance everyone was too busy with their own battles to notice me._

But there was one Pokémon he was sure noticed him. The Roselia he had sunk his teeth into. Her words echoed in his mind. _If you're sorry, then just stop._ He wished more than anything that he could. That his circus could go back to how it was in the beginning: just a troupe of performers who bring smiles to the crowd. But Weavile wanted him to fight, and he couldn't refuse her. Not because she was threatening him or anything, but because when she looked at him with her excited, adventurous eyes, he couldn't bring himself to say no.

"That girl's gonna be the death of me," Joker sighed.

"Sorry?" The Sawsbuck cocked his head.

"Oh! Nothing, just talking to myself…"

…

Weavile was the last of the trio to leave the library, taking her time getting a good amount of sleep before her departure. Hazel Town wasn't too far away, so she had plenty of time to get there and begin training. When she finally left the library, the sun was already out and beginning it's ascent into the sky. Weavile hired a transportation service and began her trek back to her orphanage.

It was a short ride on the back of a Gogoat, and she spent the time thinking about who to bring to the mansion. Out of the Pokémon she had trained to join the criminal life, most of them were still far from being capable of fending off the high-level guardians of the old mansion. They'd be picked off before they even reach the front door.

As the Gogoat skidded to a stop and Weavile paid her fare, the orphanage kids rushed out to greet her. "Weavile! You're back!" They cheered in a cacophony of excitement.

"Sorry, guys, I'm still really busy. I'll play with you all later, so let me through," Weavile told them as she pushed through the small crowd towards the door. "Can I meet the older Pokémon in my office?" She asked as she stepped into the large front room.

It took a few minutes for the Pokémon to assemble in the small office in the back of the building. Weavile sat on the desk as she looked at a Spearow, Pichu, Treecko, and Totodile. "Where's Leafeon?" She asked when it was apparent he wasn't coming.

"He… he was adopted yesterday," Spearow answered.

"Adopted? By who?" Weavile questioned.

"A couple from Churchill came and took him home," Treecko explained.

"Well, bring him back. I need him," Weavile ordered.

"Sorry… what?" Spearow's beak dropped slightly in surprise.

"Bring him back. He can go play house later, but we need him now for the next mission," Weavile repeated.

"'Play house'? He found a family who was willing to take him in. You're going to pull him away again?" Totodile asked incredulously.

Weavile paused for a moment, as though she were just now realizing what she was saying. "Of course not," she smiled. "I want nothing more than for you kids to find a home where you belong. It's just right now, I'm in a tough spot. We need as many Pokémon to help as we can get, and Leafeon will be a huge asset. After this mission, he can go back to Churchill with his new family, and he won't hear anything from me again. But right now, I need him to help me out."

The orphans looked at each other. "Right…" Spearow turned towards the door, "I'll go bring him back." Weavile could tell they weren't convinced of her intentions, but she continued smiling.

"Hurry, please," Weavile called after him as he left the room, then she turned to the remaining three. "When they get back, we're going to begin preparing. I'm taking you five to the old mansion," Weavile declared. Excitement flared up in the orphans' eyes as they looked at one another. The mansion was like the king's castle to them; a place of great importance. "But," Weavile continued, drawing their attention back to her, "we're not going there for fun. We're going to attack the mansion, and overthrow Persian."

Treeko and Totodile didn't quite understand the gravity of this statement, as they hadn't met Persian before. But Pichu has seen him once, while tagging along with Weavile for a mission report, and her face stiffened. "Overthrow Persian…?" She hadn't ever thought such a thing was possible. "Why? Isn't he a good leader?"

Weavile shook her head. "You guys don't know because you've been here, but Persian isn't fit to lead us. He makes mistakes constantly. His lapses in judgement and tactical errors result in the deaths of many of his subordinates. You might have heard Sableye's hideout was exposed. That was his fault. Breloom was killed because of him, too." That got their attention.

Totodile's head perked up in surprise. "Breloom's dead…?" He whispered.

Weavile guessed he wasn't informed before about the truth behind Breloom's disappearance, since he was fairly new. She nodded her head gravely. "Breloom, as well as many other Pokémon that came from this orphanage, have met cruel ends because of Persian's mistakes. It hurts my heart to see them, who are like my own children, being killed needlessly. That's why I'm putting a stop to it." She now saw a new resolve build in the orphans' eyes. She could tell they were on board now, so she continued, "It will be hard. Many will die. But that's why I need as much help as I can get. And as you are now, it would take a miracle for you to survive. I'd estimate three or four of you wouldn't even make it into the building. That's why it's so important that we waste no time and get started right away in preparing you. I'm going to take the five of you on a rigorous training camp. It will last the entire three days we have until the fight. I'm confident that if we work seriously with the time we have, we can make it through this. So, while we're waiting on Leafeon and Spearow, I'll go over the plan for the next three days…"

…

Murkrow's flight to Seasnow City began at sunrise the next day. His shoulder stung, but he could push through so long as the weather remained clear. Seasnow City was located far in the north, and he wanted to get there quickly so he would have enough time to return by the three-day deadline.

He glided high in the air towards his destination, alone in the sky. This gave him plenty of time to think about the future. When Weavile takes control of the organization, Murkrow would finally have a chance to be free. He never wanted to be in this business. He only did it because Persian was blackmailing him. With the Classy Cat out of the picture, Murkrow would be able to go home for the first time in years. He could see his family. He could leave his life of crime and start over.

 _But would Weavile let me go?_ He considered the Ice-type his friend, and liked to think she thought the same of him, but frankly, she scared him sometimes. He could tell she was kind at heart, but she was also ruthless at times. He's seen her kill Pokémon in cold blood, as though they were wild beasts. She seemed to enjoy being a criminal; as though she thought it was a game. He couldn't imagine the kind of life she must have lived before they met. Maybe she would let him walk away, as a final favor to a friend, but he steeled himself. Weavile wouldn't easily let an ally slip away.

Such thoughts filled his mind until he finished the long trek, and the sun descended towards the horizon. The northern city stretched upwards with its tall, slender buildings. The architecture there was unique in two ways. Several smaller buildings, such as houses and shops, were connected together by one taller, thinner building built between them. Up to four of these buildings would connect each skyscraper, one on each side. These skyscrapers gave the area a more city-like feel, despite their thin shape. There were also a few larger skyscrapers as well, used for major companies and community housing facilities.

About 50 feet up each building, there are doors. These doors are identical to the ones found on the first floor, and work exactly the same way. The reason for these doors is the same reason the city received its name. Every autumn, Seasnow City is bombarded with snow. More snow than anywhere else on the continent. Enough snow to bury buildings in. The snow comes in large quantities throughout a single month, and then remains there until spring. For half the year, the city is buried in about 50 feet of compact snow. This is why the doors are made: to create an entrance once the snow hits. The thin buildings connecting the smaller ones contain little more than a staircase leading down to the buildings that have been completely covered. For half the year, the tall, sleek city becomes a snowy village of a few seemingly small buildings.

As Murkrow arrived, he was relieved to find the snow had melted away from the previous winter, leaving a soggy ground for him to land on. Murkrow hated snow, and would have protested coming here had it been a couple months earlier. He alighted in front of a large building, visible in the winter, with the words "Delibird's Delivery Service" printed over the doors in large font. Windows covered the entire top floor, where bird Pokémon could come and go, and a garage door remained open on the side of the building for large Pokémon to enter.

Outside the garage, a Tyrantrum was just preparing to leave, a large shipping crate hanging from ropes from its powerful jaws. Murkrow entered the building.

Inside, the building was generally quiet. The owner of the business was known to be generally ill-tempered, so chatter was kept to a minimum as the workers went about their business. On the first floor, there was a large pool behind the front desk, connecting to an underwater tunnel that led out to the northern ocean. A Lanturn sat at the surface of the water, waiting as his coworker, a Carnivine, wrapped a package in a tight grassy seal, waterproofing it for its journey to the sea. An Illumise sat at the front desk, and she smiled at Murkrow as he approached.

"Hello! Welcome to Delibird's Delivery Service!" she greeted him in a chirpy voice.

"Where's Delibird?" Murkrow asked. "I need to speak with him."

"He's currently not taking any visitors," Illumise gave an awkward smile. "Today's an off-day."

"It's important. I have to see him as soon as possible," Murkrow insisted.

Illumise hesitated. "He's in his office on the sixth floor," she relented.

"Thank you," Murkrow nodded to the receptionist as he walked to the staircase and flew up to the next floor.

"I told you it was an off-day! You've been warned!" Illumise called after him, a hint of fear in her high-pitched voice.

The second floor held large tables covered in letters, and Pokemon taking them one by one, reading the address, and then either dropping them down a chute to the first floor to be taken overseas, or placing them in a cart to be brought to a higher floor. The third floor was basically the same as the second, but with larger boxes and packages. The fourth floor was used for storage. It was an inconspicuous room, with the only thing odd about it being the bookshelf in the far back, hidden by the other supplies. Each shelf was filled to the brim with bottles and jugs, with labels such as "red remover," "happy water," or even simply an X. Murkrow knew what those liquids were used for, as did the majority of the Pokemon who worked there.

The fifth floor held a front desk just as the first floor, but it wasn't occupied during the summer. The large windows were open, and Flying-types with messenger bags slung over their necks or shoulders, passed through, filling their bags with letters and small packages before setting out to deliver them. Then, finally, Murkrow reached the sixth and final floor.

The top floor was used as a sort of break room for the workers, as it was an open room with several tables and sofas. Many of the messenger Pokemon spent long amounts of time travelling, and so many of them rested and slept here. At the back of the room, there was a single door, with a single word painted across it: DELIBIRD. Several Pokemon were laying across the sofas and on the floor as Murkrow walked across the room to the boss's office. He could feel their curious eyes following him as he stared ahead at the door. He could practically hear their thoughts as they watched him.

 _What is he here for? Isn't he from the orphanage? Doesn't he know not to disturb Delibird on an off-day?_

Murkrow took a deep breath as he stopped in front of the door. He'd have liked to come back tomorrow, in the hopes that it'd be an on-day, but he didn't have the time. Hed just have to risk it. He used his beak to knock on the door, announcing his presence to the Ice-type inside.

"I swear to all that is holy," an angry voice rumbled from within, "if you're coming up here to bother me about an incorrect address again, go ahead and take a moment to think about what you could to do fix the problem on your own, and reconsider your decision to-" The door opened and Delibird stopped as he realized he wasn't scolding one of his workers. "Well, well, if it isn't Miss Babysitter's sidekick. I suppose I need to find a receptionist who can do her damn job."

"I was informed it was an off-day, but this is important. It can't wait until tomorrow," Murkrow explained.

The larger bird sighed, "I take it you're here on Babysitter's behalf?" he asked as he stepped aside, gesturing for Murkrow to enter.

"Yes, I came to talk to you about…" Murkrow trailed off as he realized the Ice-type wasn't listening. He had walked over to a metal tube used for communication and opened the hatch covering it.

"Dodrio," he called through the tube.

"Yes, sir," a voice answered, echoing through the metal pipe.

"Tell Illumise she's to be transferred to letter organization," Delibird ordered. "Tell her if she wants to send Pokemon to knock on doors, she shouldn't be sitting at that desk on her ass all day."

"Yes, sir," the voice responded curtly, and then Delibird closed the hatch again.

Murkrow looked at him almost pleadingly, "I wish you wouldn't-"

"What did you want to talk about?" Delibird interrupted.

"Illumise was just doing her job. I was the one who-"

"If you think telling me how to run my business is more important than what you came to talk about, you'd have been better off waiting until tomorrow," Delibird growled, warning Murkrow not to continue on the topic.

Murkrow gulped. "R-right… I came on Weavile's behalf to ask you for a favor."

"No," Delibird decided.

"You haven't even heard-"

"Any request coming from that weasel is bound to be trouble. I don't want to get caught up in whatever she's starting."

"Are you sure? You'll probably regret it later on," Murkrow warned. Delibird gave him a questioning look, and Murkrow took that as a sign to continue. "Weavile is going to overthrow Persian and take over as the head of the mansion."

Delibird laughed heartily. "As if a scrawny little Ice-type like her could defeat Persian! Do you know how powerful he is alone? Not to mention his little bodyguards in the woods. She won't stand a chance."

"She wouldn't," Murkrow agreed, "if she were alone. But she has allies. Lots of them. The majority of the organization is on her side. They're convinced that Persian has to go, and if you don't help them, they might decide that you're next."

Delibird sneered, "There's no way Miss Babysitter could do a better job than Persian. He's the reason we've remained out of the Guild's jail cells for so long." As one of the first division leaders to have joined Persian's crime ring, Delibird was the most knowledgeable about Persian's capabilities and what went on behind the scenes. Murkrow knew trying to turn him against Persian was going to be difficult, but he also knew he'd get Hell from Weavile if he came back empty handed.

"Whether he's better than her or not doesn't matter much. The fact is she's got the strength of numbers. She's going to defeat him, and when she does, you'd better hope you're on her side," he warned.

Delibird hesitated. "When you say she has most of the organization on her side, who does that include?"

Murkrow paused for a moment. "Sableye, Joker, Kuroba, Espeon-"

" _Espeon_ is helping her?" Delibird asked with surprise. Murkrow nodded. Delibird furrowed his brow, thinking. He knew Espeon wasn't a fool. Espeon wouldn't help Weavile unless he was certain she'd win. Not to mention he worked as Persian's advisor, and arguably had more power in the organization than Persian. More than Weavile, Delibird felt it was extremely important to be on Espeon's side. "What's your plan for this?" he asked.

Murkrow smiled, knowing that was a sign that Delibird was going to cooperate. "On the first day of the Month of Raikou, we're going to rally all of our forces at Knowall Town and then go as a group and charge the mansion. If you're going to join us, you should bring your elite workers. We don't want to lose too many lives in the fight, but it's important to gather as many capable fighters as we can."

Delibird nodded thoughtfully. "Alright. I'm in."

…

Kuroba didn't like visitors. If someone was a visitor, that meant they had to leave. That meant he couldn't touch them. He didn't like that. There was one visitor that he _did_ like, however, because it meant something was going on. When that visitor appeared before him in his little house of horror, he smiled excitedly.

"It smells like something died, as usual," Espeon remarked as he looked around the little house. It was built near the torture chamber, intended for Kuroba to live there when he wasn't working. When the house was built, it was a quaint little cottage, with carpets, tables, chairs, and some decorations. There were four rooms: the living room, bedroom, bathroom, and kitchen. Each was fully furnished and relatively homely. Now, though, the scent of death hung in the air, as it did throughout the entire forest, and the carpets had to be removed because they were growing mildew and bacteria from the blood that was never cleaned off it.

The Clean-Up division had been in charge of maintaining the house for him after it became apparent that Kuroba had no intention of keeping it serviceable. They had removed the carpets after they got too damaged, but each time Delibird would send someone to replace them, the poor worker wouldn't return. After several attempts to get Kuroba to let them install the carpets, eventually they stopped coming. That was when the cabin in the woods began regressing into the state it's now in.

The walls were peeling, the windows were too dirty to see through, and most of the furniture was gone (repurposed in Kuroba's torture experiments). The kitchenware was unserviceable, as was the bathroom. Even if it did work, the bathroom door had a sofa wedged in it with the bottom facing outward, blocking anyone of substantial size from entering, with the pole of a broom keeping it from being moved. A Mankey's arm stuck out from between the sofa and the doorframe, limp and malnourished. That, Espeon concluded, was most likely the source of the smell.

Kuroba caught him staring at the body, and grinned. "Something _did_ die," he told him. The Ghost-type was sitting in the living room, eating a cooked Pidgey, likely cooked over a fire on the fire pit outside. "It's interesting to see how Pokemon react to such a simple yet immovable obstacle. It's a shame the plumbing doesn't work anymore, or he'd have lasted much longer."

Espeon looked back at the Banette. "I came to tell you not to go to the mansion for a while," he stated, "not that you visit regularly."

"A little birdie told me the Guildmaster is dead," Kuroba ignored Espeon.

Espeon hesitated. _A little birdie?_ He considered the likelihood of Murkrow reporting to Kuroba. No, he had been with Weavile ever since the night of the raid, and there wasn't time for him to stop here on his way to Seasnow City. Not to mention, he's far too timid to come talk to Kuroba on his own. Was it Delibird, then? The Ice-type probably didn't even hear the news until much later, if at all. And he'd have no reason to tell Kuroba. No, it wasn't either of them. It might not have been a bird at all, if the expression wasn't used literally. But the fact remained that someone was informing Kuroba of events that might be dangerous for him to know. Espeon didn't like that. "When that 'little birdie' comes back, you have full permission to kill them," he told the Ghost-type. "If I find them before you, you'll likely be in trouble, so make sure you get rid of the problem."

"Oh, don't worry," Kuroba laughed. It was a knowing laugh, as though there were some inside joke Espeon wasn't in on, "the problem's already settled." Espeon looked down at Kuroba's lunch, and put two and two together. "I wonder if Bisharp has anything planned for the head… can you ask him for me?"

"I'm not going to ask Bisharp to give you a decapitated head," Espeon grimaced.

"Well, if you won't ask him, maybe I'll go ask Persian to pass on my message…" Kuroba suggested slyly.

 _This bastard is too crafty for his own good,_ Espeon thought to himself. Kuroba may not be very informed on the events of the world around him, secluded in his little cabin, but he could sense something big about to happen. "Fine," Espeon grumbled, "I'll ask him. But in exchange, I want you to up the security around here. Kill anyone who enters the woods. Don't ask who they are or what they want. Don't listen to their pleas. Even the wildies and the wanderers. The only exception…" Espeon lifted a shard of glass from the floor by the window with his psychic grip and carved a symbol onto the wall. It looked like a circle with the letter Y stretching from the top, and a horizontal line through the stem. _An upside-down stick figure,_ Kuroba observed.

"If the Pokemon has this symbol anywhere on them, whether it's on their bag, on a piece of paper, or carved into their flesh, they have been approved to talk to you, and likely have information I or Persian want you to know. If they have this…" Espeon carved an oval under the figure's head, like a halo, "I sent them personally, and I damn well better see them come back out safe and sound. This is the absolutely-do-not-harm symbol."

"I'm not allowed to hurt the angels, is that it?" Kuroba grinned.

"You won't see the do-not-harm symbol very often, but Persian would probably appreciate it if his messengers return with all their limbs," Espeon explained further.

"So to make sure I clearly understand… anyone without this symbol is to be killed. Anyone with a symbol but no halo is an expendable messenger, and anyone _with_ a halo is off limits," Kuroba summarized.

"Exactly. Follow this system without fail and I'll ask Bisharp about his war trophy."

"Alright, it's a deal," Kuroba cackled. "And don't think I don't know why you've put this system in place… You can't keep me away from the fun forever."

"I don't need to. I only need to keep you from killing someone I need to keep alive. Luckily for you, there isn't a very long list of them." As Espeon finished, he was illuminated in a purple light, and was whisked away.

…

Scarlet City, under the jurisdiction of Leavanny's Guild, wasn't affected very much by the raid on the Guild across the mountain range. Espeon arrived there in the middle of the day, as Pokémon were out and about, living their daily lives. The dirt path felt hot under his paws as he stepped onto the street from an alleyway. He preferred to Teleport to a private location, so as not to reveal his capabilities.

He didn't expect to find Bisharp at his butchery shop, but he figured he may as well try. As he entered the large building, he could almost immediately tell the boss wasn't in. It was far too quiet to be housing someone who had just murdered a Guildmaster. Espeon padded over to the front desk, where a Glaceon sat on a chair. She seemed bored, but she perked up as she noticed the visitor.

"Welcome," she smiled pleasantly.

"What happened to Mandibuzz?" Espeon asked curiously.

"Sometimes Pokémon have to make way for new hires," Glaceon replied vaguely, shrugging her shoulders.

"In other words, you killed her and took over her position at front desk," Espeon stated.

Glaceon looked at him suspiciously. "So you're in Persian's business, then?"

"Don't they have some kind of training here? Weren't you taught to recognize your superiors?" Espeon asked.

"I don't have time to remember all the division leaders and all that shit," Glaceon stated arrogantly. "I'm gonna surpass them soon enough, anyway."

"It takes a lot of guts to survive in this business. It seems you have no problem in that field. Try to be a bit more cautious, though. Especially when you don't know who it is you're talking to."

"I'm not afraid. I'm aiming straight for the top. Weavile's a joke. I'll sit on that throne in Skyspear Manor soon enough. As soon as she gets rid of Persian for me, I'll stab her in the back," Glaceon bragged. "And you know…" her voice suddenly took a more seductive tone, "there's room in that manor for two."

"Flattered," Espeon stated flatly. "Unfortunately, I'm rather busy. I really just came to see if Bisharp is in, and now that I know he isn't…"

"Bisharp? He and his posse haven't been in since the whole incident yesterday at the Guild. I'm up to my ears in work because of it, plus, Pokémon keep coming in asking for him. Arcanine himself came in yesterday to ask what Bisharp was trying to pull," complained the Ice-type.

"I'm sure. Well, if you happen to pick up any information," Espeon turned to leave, "come drop it by the Knowall Library."

Glaceon's ears perked up with interest. "Wait, you're the Espeon from Knowall Town?"

" _My,_ someone's been paying attention," Espeon rolled his eyes as he padded back towards the door.

Glaceon hopped up and over the desk, skipping to fall into step with the Psychic-type. "Why didn't you say so before?" Espeon continued walking, opening the door with Psychic and stepping through. "Hey, if you need an assistant or something, I can help you out."

"Don't you have work to be doing?" Espeon grumbled.

"Please. As if anyone would care if I disappeared. Especially if I joined the Intelligence Division. I'd be the first identified member of Intel Div, so I'd probably be famous," Glaceon speculated.

"Well, sadly, I don't have any need for an assistant," Espeon insisted, irritated that the Ice-type wouldn't leave him alone so he could Teleport.

"But surely with all the traveling you do, someone should be in charge of the library in your stead, right?" Glaceon continued. "I could watch your things while you're gone and make sure no one steals anything."

Espeon stopped. He had been robbed only once, when he was gone for a long period of time, but even that one theft was annoying enough for him to consider the offer of a guard. Not to mention he rather liked the idea of not having the entire library caked in dust on his more lengthy absences. He looked at Glaceon, considering her request. "Do you know how to manage a library?" he asked.

"I've never done it before, but I've handled the Butcher Barn's files, and I'm a pretty fast learner," she bragged.

Espeon sighed. "And you'll only be working there until you can… inherit the manor?"

"That's right. Once I'm calling the shots, I'll be out of your fur."

 _Therefore, I can count on her to hold the fort for several years at least,_ Espeon concluded. "Alright. I'll make you my assistant librarian. Go ahead to the transport company and get a Pokemon to take you to Knowall. I'll meet you there."

"You're not gonna ride with me?" Glaceon tipped her head.

"No, I don't like using transport Pokemon. I'll go by myself," he told her.

"Alright, but Knowall Town is literally across the continent… will I have to wait for you to get in?"

"No, the door will be unlocked for you."

"Okay… see you there, then," Glaceon hesitated before turning to leave. As soon as she turned the corner onto the main street, and Espeon found himself alone by the entrance to the butcher's shop, he Teleported back to his home.

* * *

And the figures in the shadows begin to gather for an unseen war. In the aftershocks of tragedy do these Pokemon make their moves in a struggle for power over the underground. Hopefully updates will start coming in sooner than this, so you can find out soon just what happened to the world.

I didn't want to post this after the last chapter 'cause it would disrupt the mood, but we have a little update aside from this chapter today. First, I made a final change in my alias. There oughta be less than five people around that would even know my first username to get the joke, so I switched it to what I tend to use nowadays: MadderJacker. You may shorten it to call me whatever you see fit, if you call me anything at all. And my co-author Rabbit pointed out to me that, putting our names together, we get Jackrabbit. So.

More importantly, we decided to make a blog. There's a lot to this world that would require some thick exposition to say it all. Like earlier this chapter, we mentioned the Month of Raikou. We finally wrote down our calendar, and my lovely co-author drew a wheel to go with it. You can expect things like sketches, or pieces of lore, or even just updates on our part there. Lately I've been wanting to become a part of the community, reading more as well as writing, and starting this blog seems like a great start. There isn't too much on it right now. The both of us have jobs and school and things to move towards. But, we have a big project in the works: a map to scale. Maybe we'll post the rough map in the mean time, but if this piques your interest, visit blog/ahomefaraway and send us something. Makes my day to hear from you people, especially if you go through the trouble of actually typing that in because Fanfiction doesn't let me make links I'm pretty sure.

We hope to hear from you. Have a wonderful day.


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